


Straightening Things Out

by whitehart



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Mummy Holmes, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff and Humor, Food Kink, Headcanon Accepted, Holmes Brothers, M/M, Parent Greg Lestrade, Parent John Watson, Parent Mycroft, Parent Sherlock, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-09 10:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitehart/pseuds/whitehart
Summary: Mycroft is OCD.Sherlock discovers evidence of his worst nightmare.Greg is smarter than anyone thinks.John drops a bomb on Sherlock.Marked as complete. Each chapter is an individual story, but they all happen in the same timeline.Explicit sexual language/references ahead.Upped the ratings for chapters ahead.





	1. Straightening Things Out

"No. Sherlock you cannot do that!" John hissed and pulled Sherlock back into the dark. They were standing in the cold at 2am outside Mycroft's apartment. Sherlock had woken John up shouting about _a very important errand_ , and John woke up assuming it was for a case. When the cab came to a halt, John knew where they were, and he was struggling to keep Sherlock in check.

Sherlock was going to break into Mycroft's apartment.

 

**#######################**

 

**Four days ago - Wednesday**

Sherlock had spent the past few days in bed... with John. They had officially labelled their relationship now as 'lovers'.

On Sunday, John was at the bar with some old friends from his last tour. A little get-together with two of them recently back from the Middle East. Everyone was excited to hear about John's adventures, and were more excited to see Sherlock in person after the doctor shared a few of their recent cases. It took six pints for John to slip out his crush on Sherlock. None of his friends missed it, and they had sort of invited themselves to 221B, wanting to see how gorgeous John's crush is.

It was no secret where they lived - 221B Baker Street. John couldn't stop them even if he was sober. By 4pm, six of John's old army friends were sitting all around Sherlock on the floor, staring intently at the consulting detective who seemed to be lost in his mind palace.

Twelve minutes and twenty six seconds later, Sherlock blinked hard a couple of times and frowned. John knew that look. Sherlock was coming out of his mind palace.

"John. What time is it?" Sherlock looked up to John in his chair, ignoring the others around him.

"Quarter past four."

"Hmm. Army. All of you. Two recently returned. Drunk, including you John. I'll assume I have to make my own tea then." Sherlock stood up from his chair, held onto the only piece of fabric wrapped around his naked body. As he climbed over Marcus, the army veteran caught a glimpse of the pale lean thighs peeking through the slit.

What followed was unpleasant for Sherlock. It started with a light _oooohhhh_ , and another whistle. Soon, they were teasing John about how fine his _lover boy_ was. Sherlock snapped. He yelled John's full name and growled at the men from the kitchen.

"Let's go boys. Watson's got some domestic storm coming." Marcus teased as he stood up, leading the whole group out of 221B.

John walked towards Sherlock as his friends leave. He was sobering up at the smell of tea. Sherlock was holding two cups and shoved one towards John.

"Thanks." John slurred as he took the cup of tea from Sherlock's hands, brushing his fingertips gently against Sherlock's.

"Care to explain why you're drunk before sunset? Is something bothering you John?"

"You. You're bothering me. Always prancing around the flat naked underneath that sheet... You do know it's translucent yeah? I can see what's underneath when you stand by the window and light goes through."

John held the cup of tea and sat back down on his chair while Sherlock stood closely behind, staring at the back of John's head.

"Why does it bother you? You're not gay, John."

"Not gay because I like women too."

"How does that make you... Oh. _Too_."

"Yeah, that. I like you Sherlock, that way. I want to be more than you best friend and your flatmate, but you obviously aren't interested. There! That's what's bothering me. Happy?"

Sherlock placed his cup down on the kitchen table before wrapping his arms around John from the back. He snuggled his face into John's hair and whispered 'me too' against the doctor's scalp.

 

**#######################**

 

**Yesterday - Saturday**

Every Saturday is different for John and Sherlock, but this will be the first of many Saturdays to come where they will have breakfast in bed. John had woke up earlier than Sherlock for the first time in history and decided to make his lover breakfast to have in bed.

They were forced to take a case yesterday because Mycroft cashed in on one of his favours owed by Sherlock. It was only a two. Sherlock solved it in fifteen minutes. He had been annoyed and cranky the rest of the day, making it difficult for John too. The couple were both getting restless when Sherlock thought sex would be a great way to break the tension. Turns out he was right, again. They were at it for hours before going to bed, only to wake up in the middle of the night to go at it again, knocking Sherlock out cold from exhaustion the rest of the morning.

John carried a tray with toasts, coffee and a jar of honey into their bedroom. After a few bites of toast, Sherlock dipped his finger into the jar of honey and left a trail of sticky sweetness along his torso. It was his attempt to seduce John, and he had successfully done so. It was another hour before they were both done nibbling at each other and finishing their breakfast.

"We should get out and do something." John said as he pulled the sticky sheets off the bed.

"Adventurous. Should've expected nothing less from Captain John Watson." Sherlock winked and carried the tray of empty plates and cups, headed for the kitchen.

"I didn't mean sex, Sherlock. Unless you're thinking about-- What the fuck are you doing here Mycroft?!"

Sherlock was standing by the kitchen table, setting down the tray as John walked out from their bedroom seeing Mycroft on Sherlock's chair. They were both in their pants and sticky from honey and _something else._

"I guess congratulations is in order. Shall I call mummy and tell her the good news?" Mycroft grinned.

"Don't you dare Mycroft. I will do it myself."

 

**#######################**

 

**Sunday, 2am**

Between Mycroft's visit on Saturday morning and now, less than 24 hours had passed, but Mycroft had managed to annoy Sherlock to no end about his newly developed relationship with John.

**Your doctor needs more Beta Carotene. Fragile bone on his left. -MH**

**Might want to also change your brand of milk. He has increased prolactin levels. Puffy areola. -MH**

**I know a good goldsmith who will forge a great pair of rings. -MH**

**Any thoughts on changing your mattress? Hearing chatter about the creaks from your neighbours. -MH**

**Also soundproofing. Ready to accommodate you at the Astoria while we fix that. -MH**

Thirty four text messages related to Sherlock's relationship with John, the younger Holmes had enough.

 

John and Sherlock stood in front of Mycroft's door. They both realised there are cameras all around, but at this hour, Sherlock doubted Mycroft would be looking at the screen. His security team would realise, but the relay of messages will most likely to reach Mycroft in at least twelve minutes - more than enough time for his plan. Quietly, he started picking the lock while John kept an eye on the surroundings.

_Click_

They were in. The couple stood in the middle of Mycroft's posh living room. It was dark, but the curtains were left open, letting in a stream of light from the street. A smudge on the window caught Sherlock's attention.

_A handprint. Too big to be Mycroft's. Some fluid briefly wiped off...  
_

Sherlock's train of thought was cut short when he heard a snore coming out from down the hall.

_Mycroft is asleep then._

"What are we doing?" John whispered.

"We are moving everything slightly. Mycroft's OCD. Did you not notice it? He always straightens our knocker and your chair every time he visits. He doesn't even know he's doing it." Sherlock smirked at the thought of Mycroft's reaction to the subtle shifts in his things. A normal person wouldn't understand why, but to Mycroft, it would be a disaster. The both of them set to work. John went to the kitchen while Sherlock stayed in the living room.

 

Sherlock turned the sofa two degrees clockwise, the carpet counter-clockwise, rearranged his books in alphabetical order except for one, placed his CDs... CDs?

_Mycroft never had CDs. He only listens to vinyl._

Sherlock pulled out all of Mycroft's vinyl from their covers and put them back in the wrong covers, but rearranging them back in order according to the vinyl instead of the cover.

 

John thought it was hilarious, pulling such a subtle but mean prank on Mycroft! The older Holmes' constant stream of comments and questions didn't annoy John as much, but it made Sherlock insufferable. As much as John loves Sherlock, he had enough of Sherlock trashing the flat.

_Oh... this is brilliant._

As John scanned around the kitchen, he noticed something out of place. There was a pair of salt and pepper shaker that obviously did not belong in that kitchen. They looked old and familiar. He was sure he had seen them before...

_Focus. I'm sure I'll remember where I've seen those before._

The doctor opened up all the cabinets. All the plates, cups and silverware were stacked neatly with the largest plates on the left, smallest ones on the right, cups sorted by height and silverware laid neatly in the cupboard. John pulled a plate from each stack and shuffled them around quietly. He managed to balance a few coffee cups between plates before placing the stack back into the cabinets. He rearranged the cups randomly and gave himself a pat on the back before closing the cupboard. He did the same with the silverware, slowly mixing them up, and made as little noise as possible.

_Done! Now to the fridge. Let's see what he has in here..._

As he opened up the fridge, what he saw was abysmal. The fridge was a mess. There was a half-eaten piece of cake over a block of butter, bottles of lager pushed to the side with a couple bottles of water in between, a few doughnuts stacked on top of a sandwich cling-wrapped on a pizza box. John stared at it for a few seconds and looked into the living room, trying to catch Sherlock's attention. He hissed to get Sherlock to turn around and motioned for the detective to come over.

"What do you make of this, Sherlock?"

"This is not Mycroft's fridge."

"Are we in the wrong apartment?"

"I am beginning to think so, but there are evidence here that proves that we are indeed in Mycroft's apartment."

"So, what do we do?"

"If this is Mycroft's, I think we have done enough. Otherwise, the actual idiots who lives here won't even notice."

John nodded. As they turned around from their huddle against the fridge, they jumped at the sight of someone now facing them.

 

"What are you two doing here?"

John and Sherlock's eyes went wide. They knew Mycroft is smarter than Sherlock and really powerful, but they did not expect him to bring Greg down that quickly, especially at that hour of the night. But looking at Greg again, Sherlock noticed something amiss.

"You are wearing a bathrobe with Mycroft's initials. There's no signs of you driving or coming in the front door, and I can hear Mycroft still asleep, snoring. Your hair, ruffled on the back and left, which means you were sleeping, right side of the bed. You smell like Mycroft... no. No no no no no no. Please, no. John, please, stop this. I'm having a nightmare."

While Sherlock kept chanting 'no', everything clicked in John's head. The state of the fridge, the lager, the salt and pepper shakers, the CDs.

"I better take Sherlock home. He's going to wake Mycroft up."

"No he won't. I've drained him out." Greg smirked.

"No need to get into details Lestrade. I could tell from that smudge on the window," Sherlock pressed his forehead into John's shoulder, "John, please. Take me home. NOW." He whined.

As John pulled Sherlock out the front door, he turned around and looked at Greg, "so, how long has it been mate?"

"Six years, and Sherlock didn't have a clue. Honestly mate, didn't mean to hide it from you, but I can't wait for Myc to wake up and hear about this."

"Oh, when he wakes up, I'm sure he won't want to hear about it."

"What do you mean?"

"See you for a pint, Wednesday?"

"Sure, but what'd you mean he won't want to hear about this?"

John ignored him, turned around and waved back-facing Greg as they left.

 

**#######################**

 

**Sunday, 8am**

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

The loud yell woke Greg up from his slumber. It was Mycroft. He pulled himself out of bed, pulled on a t-shirt and pants before walking towards the living room.

"Good morning love. What's wrong? Did someone take over the world while you were asleep?"

"No... this is... this is a nightmare, right? None of this is real."

Greg spun Mycroft around to face himself. He held Mycroft's face in his palms and gently brushed the puffing cheeks with his thumbs.

"Hey, relax. Breathe for me, okay? Tell me, what is wrong?"

"Someone trashed our place. Look!" Mycroft pointed at the living room, "someone had done this with great precision... Sherlock." As he said Sherlock's name, Mycroft squinted and wrinkled his nose. Greg couldn't help and started laughing.

"What is so funny Gregory?"

"Well, firstly, I don't see how the place is trashed. And I caught your brother and John snooping around this morning. Kicked them out. Sherlock's face was priceless! He kept asking John to take him hom--" Greg was cut off by Mycroft.

"You should've woke me up! Oh god. We have to get a new place. I can't live like this. This is a mess."

"Is it that bad? Hey," Greg noticed Mycroft's face was getting pale and shook him out of his daze, "none of that, okay? Tell me what is wrong and we'll straighten it out? We've had a lot of good memories here. I don't want to give that up just because the books are in the wrong order."

"You noticed." Mycroft eyes twinkled.

"Of course. Six years, my dear. Of course I've noticed. I have an idea. Let's go out while we get someone to sort everything back in order, hmm? We haven't had a proper date in months."

Mycroft hummed a cheerful tone and nodded, followed by giving his lover a really good kiss. He grabbed his phone and sent a few text messages with instructions on rearranging his living room, and one to his dear younger brother.

 

**Good one, brother dear. But I suppose the stain on the window wasn't worth messing up my place, was it? Good luck deleting the image of me and Lestrade fucking against the window. -MH**

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 


	2. Straightening Things Out II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Mycroft comes home to an almost straightened out house... almost. Something is still amiss and he can't put a finger on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short fluffy chapter! Couldn't get the last bit out of my mind, had to write it down :p  
> Thanks for all the kudos so far! xx

"Something is still... wrong." Mycroft whispered as he took his fourth step into the house.

 

**#################################**

 

Mycroft and Greg had spent the day in the park, strolling through the lush greens, Mycroft staring out into blank space while Greg coos at babies in prams passing by. The sun shone bright that morning, and they spent a couple of hours walking in the park, hand in hand.

After lunch, Mycroft received a text message from Anthea with one word - _Done._

As they walked back to their home, Greg couldn't help but notice Mycroft's tense shoulders.

"What's wrong? Anthea's got it all sorted yeah?"

"Not sure. Might be Sherlock's reaction to..." Mycroft glanced over to Greg and caught his eyes, "...us."

Mycroft was right to be concerned. As he reviewed the CCTV footage from the front door earlier this morning, he heard their entire conversation.

"How many 'no' does it take for a brother to disown the other?" Mycroft asked with a stern look.

"Whoa. Just because he was singing 'no' a million times? You can't disown your brother. I'm sure he's done something worse than that and you've never said anything about disowning him!"

"Not when it comes to matters concerning you, Gregory. And it was 74 _no-s_. Sherlock's not too fond of me either, wouldn't hurt him."

The DI's heart skipped a beat. He saw tears welling in Mycroft's eyes, and disappeared when those eyes blinked hard a few times.

"I'm sure there's no such thing as disowning a sibling. He's fond of you... in his own way."

"There can be if I make one." Mycroft had obviously tuned out Greg's last comment about disowning a sibling and Sherlock's fondness. The DI could tell his lover was already plotting a plan to allow siblings to legally disown one another. It was bad, but he kept wondering if Mycroft was really going through with it. Over the six years of being together with Mycroft, he had seen too many situations where Sherlock was in trouble and Mycroft sticking his own neck out to protect his little brother. However, it all went across to Sherlock as his older brother meddling in his business, not knowing what depths Mycroft had went to pull him out of literal hell.

"Oh god." Greg decided to let the conversation about disowning siblings and the one in his own head drop as he talked about the babies they saw in the park. He was always fond of children, and was waiting for the right time to discuss with Mycroft about adopting one. But with both their jobs, he had to make sure his partner really wanted one before breaching the subject.

 

**#################################**

 

"Sherlock, you need to apologise to your brother and Lestrade." John said as he closed the door behind him.

"Whhhyyyyyy?" Sherlock whined, stomping towards his chair.

"You were supposed to be happy for them! Or at least pretend that you aren't devastated by it!"

"But I am! Mycroft will fuck things up royally and Lestrade will stop giving me cases. This cannot get worse."

"So, you're not devastated because Lestrade is attached to Mycroft?"

"Why would I be, John? I have you."

 

**#################################**

 

**Sherlock apologises for his reaction. -JW**

**He doesn't apologise. What did he actually say? -G**

**Along the lines of Mycroft fucking things up with you and no more cases for him. -JW** ****

**As usual. He's only concerned about his cases. -G**

**Myc said something about disowning your boyfriend. -G**

**WHAT? Can he actually do that? -JW**

**Forget I asked. He can if he wants to. Let me see if I can get Sherlock to talk. -JW**

**And six years?! How did you tolerate a Holmes for six years? -JW**

**Amazing sex. Sure you don't want to hear more. -G**

**Nope. Please god, no. Nothing about it on Wednesday too. -JW**

**Good. That's all you need to know. They learn fast, by the way :p -G**

 

**#################################**

 

Mycroft was still frowning as he opened the door to their apartment. Four steps was all it took for him to sense that something was still wrong. His legs froze abruptly, causing Greg to bump into his back.

"Everything alri--" Greg was cut off before he could finish the word.

"Something is still... wrong." Mycroft said under his breath. His eyes looked intently at every single corner of the living room and kitchen, matching every inch to the perfect scene in his mind. "Oh..." he chanted after six seconds. Greg was still standing right behind him, both his hands holding Mycroft's shoulders.

"What is it?" Greg raised an eyebrow as Mycroft took long steps towards the window and pulled the curtains open.

"They cleaned the window." He pointed at the spot where their love-making stain was from last night.

"That's it?!" Greg couldn't help himself but started laughing, really loudly. If the neighbourhood was rougher, someone would've called the police. He shuffled over to Mycroft and held him in a tight embrace. "You silly man." Greg huffed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you caught it, yes it was a HIMYM reference with the "no-s".
> 
> Should Mycroft disown Sherlock? Or threaten to?


	3. Straightening Things Out III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is confused, Mycroft is unhappy.  
> Both their lovers want the brothers to talk it out.
> 
> Will Mycroft disown Sherlock?

"So, you're not devastated because Lestrade is attached to Mycroft?"

"Why would I be, John? I have you."

****

**################################**

****

**Tuesday - after the break-in**

Sherlock had pondered on John’s words from Sunday early morning since. Confused isn’t even close to describing how Sherlock felt. He didn’t have enough data. What did John mean? What has Lestrade got to do with anything? Also, the news of Mycroft petitioning for sibling dis-ownership had traveled to Sherlock earlier this morning.

_Why would Mycroft want to disown me? I’ve been nothing but a brilliant little brother!_

****

“Sherlock, breakfast is getting cold!” John hollered from the kitchen. He was sitting next to Sherlock’s mountain pile of experiments, sipping his cuppa, eating his toast with jam. Sherlock paced slowly into the kitchen, face crinkled up in a bunch. John knew better than to ask what was wrong. He had learned over the years to give Sherlock time to think before diving into whatever problem his lover had, especially when it comes to ones about emotions and sentiments.

John was done with his breakfast, and while he was doing the dishes, he couldn’t wait any longer to ask. “Is this about Mycroft?”

Sherlock nodded and hummed a straight note. He only does that when something is really bothering that genius mind.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Why did you think I would be devastated that Gavin is an item with my brother?”

“Well, you do realise you don’t get along with people well, and he was there for you before I met you… Ever since,” John motioned his hands between the both of them, “this, I thought you had felt something for Greg, you know, him being around you before we met.”

“Oh John. Don’t be an idiot. I’ve always known he had a thing for Mycroft. I just kept deleting the evidences because there wasn’t enough to proof, and I didn’t want to know.”

“You must’ve observed some pretty disturbing things at the house huh?”

“That stain… I couldn’t delete it. I don’t understand, why…”

John knew why. Sherlock had recently become exposed to sex, very brilliant sex, and he was getting a little obsessed with it. They’ve been shagging on every surface in the flat, and Sherlock’s insatiable lust for John just seem to grow every day.

“I can enlighten you, if you’re up for it.” John smirked. His lover’s blue eyes darted between him and the window.

“Yes.”

****

**################################**

****

**Wednesday - at the bar**

“Greg.”

“John.”

“So…”

“Never expected our conversation to go awkward?”

John and Greg both sat in silence staring at the telly while sipping their own pint. They had been staring at everything and everyone in the bar except the other. Greg couldn’t stand it anymore.

“So, wanna hear about me and Mycroft?”

“Six years… just… wow.”

“Yeah. Fell in love the moment I met him in the hospital, first time Sherlock OD’d. Didn't leave his brother's side for days.”

Greg spent the next twenty minutes telling John stories of him and Mycroft before John had met Sherlock. Interestingly, John had heard some of them before from Sherlock. It wasn’t until now he put the pieces together and figured that he should’ve seen it coming.

“And that’s that.” Greg folded his arms against his chest and leaned on the table. By now they both already had one pint too many. Greg had lost track of his story and John was slurring slightly.

“So for the past three years we’ve been mates, every Wednesday you rush out of the bar by nine not because you have paperwork but you’re rushing home to shag Mycroft?”

“Hey. Don’t judge me. I’m sure by now you know how good a Holmes is in bed?” Greg smirked. John tried to hide his own, but they both ended up laughing out loud for a moment before John took a deep breath.

“I know exactly what you mean mate. Sherlock learned really quickly. Mind you he never had anyone before… You already know that. But yeah, he’s getting a little out of control though. I can’t believe he made me do it against the window, open!”

“Yesterday?”

“Yep.” John popped his lips as he took another swig at his pint.

“That explains why Mycroft threw his laptop out the window…”

“He saw! Sherlock would be pleased to know that.”

“Pleased? Hey, actually, I think we need to talk about that. Does Sherlock ever tell you about his feud with Myc?”

“Not really, but I know he loves Mycroft. He just has a weird way of showing affection, trust me.”

“I do, but Myc seems to think otherwise. The other day when he saw how Sherlock reacted to the news about me and Myc… it was bad. He shed a tear, John. An actual fucking tear. That whole talk about disowning a sibling… He thought Sherlock would be happy to rid of him. You have no idea mate, no idea how much Myc had done for Sherlock over the past six years. God knows how many nights I went home from the Yard to find him huddled in a corner pulling his hair out trying to get Sherlock out of a situation…” Greg stared at his pint solemnly. John wrapped an arm around the DI’s shoulder and gave him a tug.

“I really had no idea. We should get them to talk openly to each other. Would be good for both of them.”

They silently finished the last pint, both were thinking about how to get the brothers to get along.

“Lunch, Saturday?” John said.

“Good idea. I’ll cook for--” Greg was interrupted by John.

“Nope. You are not cooking. The state of that fridge…” John pinched the bridge of his nose while he chuckled.

“Right. I’ll send you both a car. We’ll go somewhere with lower risk of salmonella.”

Just as John nodded, the bar’s door opened and two men in sharp suits walked in, standing in front of John and Greg’s table.

“Sir, your presence has been requested at the manor.” The man on the left said as he removed his dark glasses and looked at Greg.

“Oh shit,” Greg exclaimed when he looked at his watch, “it’s already ten. No wonder he sent for me… Gotta go John. I’ll see you and Sherlock on Saturday for lunch.”

John only made a whiplash noise as Greg walked out and the men followed behind him. As soon as Greg had left, John quickly went to the gents before walking home to 221B.

****

**################################**

****

**Saturday - 11.30am**

“Sherlock! You have to get out of bed, NOW! Car’s coming in thirty!”

The lanky detective wrapped himself in the blanket and rolled to John’s side of the bed. He buried his face into John’s pillow and fell asleep again. John stared at the beautiful man on the bed. He leaned down and stroked those dark curls gently, ran his fingers through his lover's scalp and was rewarded with a soft purr.

"Come on love. We really have to get ready."

"Why?"

"It is important to me." John was referring to the possibility of Sherlock having an open conversation with his brother. Sherlock assumed it was about John's social life, got up and nodded.

While Sherlock was in the shower, John sent a text to Greg, notifying him that they will be there on time.

 

**We need to do this gently. Mycroft isn't too happy about lunch either. -G**

 

**################################**

****

Sherlock and John hopped onto the car sent by Mycroft, and wasn't told where they were headed.

"Sherlock, I need to tell you something."

"If this is about Mycroft--"

"Yes, it is and you will listen." John raised his voice a little, and had put on his best Captain Watson face. "Your brother cares about you. He has been upset about this entire ordeal as well, and you know well why. He needs to hear you say it Sher. Tell him. You are both as good in deducing as you both are in hiding your emotions. Maybe it is time to open up?"

"And I thought this was about you needing a normal domestic life..."

"Sherlock. I chose you. I chose danger. Why would I want a normal life when I can have you?"

 

**################################**

****

In the end, they had lunch at Mycroft's house. Greg had cleaned out the fridge, replaced everything inside. Mycroft's private chef was more than happy to restock the kitchen and made them a superb roast. John and Greg had settled with a beer in front of the telly watching a rerun of the match they missed on Friday, leaving the brothers in the dining room.

"Mycroft. We both know what this lunch was for. Let's just get it over with."

"Agreed. You know I've been watching over you all these while, not because I despise you. You're the only person in the world I relate to. I have to admit I wasn't the best at showing that I care--"

"Sorry."

"What?"

"I apologise, and I won't repeat it."

"Apology accepted. And I too, apologise... for how I made you feel."

"We never feel, brother."

"Not until now. John had made you a better person. You are more than a consulting detective now."

"And you are not a minor government personnel."

They both grinned at the light banter.

"I have to say this Sherlock, I've never wanted you to have the impression that I enjoy controlling every aspect of your life. I only did it because it was the only way I know how to keep you safe. I can't lose you again, brother dear. Almost lost you when I was forced to send you on the suicide mission. You have no idea how hard it was for me, putting you on the plane. It was possibly the only time I was glad that London was threatened."

"I know. You slipped. It was obvious."

Mycroft sighed, "and the whole thing about disowning a sibling... my emotions got the better of me."

"Six years with an extremely emotional man. I did not expect less. My reaction was about the stain, not your relationship with Gregory, brother. It was a horrible thing to have deduced..."

"Say no more. And it's 'Greg' for you. His name is reserved for my lips only."

Sherlock made a noise of faux disgust. "So, will you drop the surveillance on us now?"

"Already did, if you haven't notice, after your little window show." The older Holmes cringed as he recalled the image on the screen the other day.

"Now we are even. Can't delete that even if you want to, can you?" Sherlock winked at his brother.

 

**################################**

****

"Hey Greg. Wanna bet?"

"Never saw you as a gambler, John."

"Not the game. About Sherlock and Mycroft."

"Oh. Let's hear it then."

"You think they will iron it out, or Mycroft will kick us out within the next ten minutes?"

"I think we are both on the same side on this. No point betting."

"Hmm, you're right mate. Forget I said anything."

As their team scored another goal, they heard some light giggles coming from the dining room.

"I guess we both won."

"To the Holmeses." Greg raised his bottle to John and they celebrated their success quietly.

 

Ten minutes later, the brothers joined Greg and John in the living room in front of the telly, cuddling up to each their own. After the match ended, Mycroft had dozed off. John had never seen Mycroft's face relaxed, and it was an eye opener. He finally sees why Greg was so smitten with the man. A calm and peaceful Mycroft looked really attract--

"Ow!" John yelped as Sherlock pinched his thigh.

"I saw you eyeing my brother, John."

"Sorry. Never seen him like that before, that's all."

"You know better than to lie. You were thinking about how attractive he is. I think someone needs spanking." Sherlock whispered in John's ear.

John cleared his throat and nodded towards Greg.

"We better get going. Greg, tell Mycroft we appreciate it, yeah? And lunch was fantastic. We will come more often."

"Not an open invitation John. Don't get ahead of yourself." Mycroft said with his eyes closed.

"We will show ourselves out." Sherlock tugged John along. "Thanks Greg." He said before he closed the door behind him.

 

"Did Sherlock just call me Greg?" He asked his lover, eyes still closed, head leaning close against his chest.

"Yes. He knows your name. Just likes to call you a bunch of random ones to show how much he cares. I did tell him that 'Gregory' is only for me though."

"Hmm. Good to know. Odd fellow, just like you." He tilted his head and gave Mycroft a kiss.

"My baby brother. Just like me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 1,000 hits! Thank you for all the kudos and comments! xx


	4. Straightening The Fridge Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg messes up the fridge again. OCD Mycroft would not be pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, full italics sentences are inner thoughts.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Lavender_and_Vanilla for the inspiration from Mystrade Goes Shopping!

**Sunday - 4.30am**

Greg and Mycroft were sleeping soundly, snuggled comfortably in each others' arms when a loud crash woke both of them up with a jolt. Mycroft's reflexes had him reaching out for his gun behind his bedside table, and Greg pulled out his from behind the headboard on his side. They manoeuvred around the house in the dark with ease, cleared both their dens and the guest bathroom before heading towards the living room. The light from the window had reflected something shiny moving near Greg's CD cabinet.

"Don't move." Greg warned as he clicked his safety off and had his gun pointed at the intruder.

"Anthropoid Alpha." The intruder sounded calm. It seemed to have meant something important because Mycroft pushed Greg's hands down and asked to be left alone with the intruder.

"It's fine Gregory. I know this person. Leave us, please."

Greg had been with this man long enough to make him ask twice. The DI gave his lover's shoulder a light squeeze and headed back to the bedroom. Ten minutes later, Greg heard the front door shut and received a text message from Mycroft.

**Work. Need to leave immediately. Will be back on Saturday. Dinner? -MH**

**Of course. Be safe my dear. -G**

****

As Greg sat at the corner of their bed, he wondered if Mycroft could have spared twenty seconds to give him a kiss goodbye before leaving suddenly. One week wasn't the longest time they have spent apart, but it was the first time Mycroft didn't kiss him goodbye.

 _Well, there's always a first for everything. Something really bad must have happened._ Greg thought.

"Gregory."

"I thought you had left? Heard the front doo-- _umph_!" Mycroft tackled Greg into the mattress before he could finish, held Greg's face as he smooched every corner of his lips, swirled his tongue through the DI's mouth as he deepened the kiss. Greg reciprocated, waltzed into the dance of tongue and lips. Just as Greg was getting into it, Mycroft pulled away leaving his gorgeous lover underneath whining and panting.

"You didn't need to turn back. Go save the world now." His hand gave Mycroft's arse a swat as he pushed himself off the bed, brought him and Mycroft on their feet.

"Had to kiss you goodbye. I love you."

"I love you too. Be safe, seriously. Please."

Mycroft held a sad smile as he pulled himself away from Greg, heart aching from the loss of Greg's touch. He had quickly made his way out of their bedroom and once again the front door shuts.

****

**#####################**

****

Giovanni, Mycroft and Greg’s private chef had taken the liberty of cleaning out their refrigerator and restocking all their supplies. Greg was all alone at home for seven days, and naturally he messed up the fridge again. He drank milk straight from the carton, leftovers piling up, juice spilled on the rack because he slammed the door too hard on the third day. His foul mood on Tuesday exploded after Sherlock decided to take John in the Yard’s second floor gents. According to Sherlock later, it was the washroom least used in the Yard. No one used it for weeks on end. However, a big case came through while John and Sherlock were at it. All hands were on deck, and the Yard was filled with people. At least twenty personnel walked by, but of all those, they were caught by Anderson. Dealing with Anderson's complaints were the least of his frustrations that day. He had sent at least fifty text messages and left seven voicemail to Mycroft but hadn't heard a reply.

_He must be really busy. But I just want to hear his voice..._

 

"...the murderer must be nearby-- Lestrade? Are you listening?"

"Huh? Sorry, wasn't. Talk to Sally about that case. She's leading that one."

"Mycroft isn't around. You're terribly frustrated, not sexually though. You've been staring at your phone the entire twenty minutes I've been here... Ah. No response on the calls and texts. I'm sure you're aware he might be in a country where they wouldn't allow him to carry his mobile? For instance, North Korea."

"I know. Sherlock, thank you, but it's really none of your business. Appreciate if you could just get out. Talk to Sally if you want in on that case, otherwise go home. Please. I really don't need this now."

"Fine. I'll have John visit you tonight. You sulking is terrible for business." Sherlock turned around and put his coat on dramatically as he made his exit from Greg's office. He was still staring at his phone. His heart is unsettled.

_North Korea. It's really fucked up out there right now. Why would they need him there for? Maybe I should call Anthea and ask-- ah, no. If she is there with Myc most likely she won't have her mobile with her too._

 

Mycroft left London on Sunday early morning, and on Monday there were speculative news circulating the Yard about North Korea's new dictator testing some nuclear materials. It should not have been difficult for Greg to put two and two together, but he wasn't thinking straight. All he could still think of on Monday was Mycroft's soft lips held against his chapped ones. When Sherlock brought up North Korea, he finally made sense of the situation.

****

**#####################**

 

**Thursday, 12.14am**

It had been a long day for Greg. Between trying to reach Sherlock and John, and juggling six complicated cases, he was exhausting himself to the point where his body was giving out. As he walked into his empty apartment, his body went straight to the sofa and he planted himself deep in the soft cushions.

It took him awhile, but his growling stomach was keeping him awake. Reluctantly he walked to the kitchen and grabbed some cheese, crackers and a beer before setting them down on the coffee table in front of the telly. He went into the bedroom, grabbed Mycroft’s pillow and a blanket, then built himself a nest in the living room.

After ten minutes of QI, he had finished his plate of cheese and crackers. He chugged down the rest of his beer and cuddled Mycroft’s pillow, falling asleep with the telly on. His phone was clutched tight in his hand, held close to his chest.

****

**3.56am**

_Buzz buzz-- buzz buzz-- buzz buzz_

The vibrations of his phone woke him up. _Mycroft._

“Hello Gregory.”

“Hey Myc. [yawns] Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just wanted to call you back and hear your voice. I miss you. Sorry I couldn’t call earlier.”

“It’s alright. Heard you were in Nor--”

“Shush. Not a secure line. Listen, I only have a couple of minutes. This is a social call love.”

“Right. It’s nice of them to let you call home.”

“Yes. Very kind indeed.”

“Have you been eating well?”

“Yes, I know you haven’t. Has Sherlock been a pain?”

“He is, well, he is Sherlock. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t a pain up my arse. He's probably tied up in Switzerland by his doctor now...”

“I should be the only pain up your arse love. And speaking of being tied up...”

“Oh Myc. I don’t think we should do that over a monitored line.”

“You are right Gregory.” There were some whispers in the background before Mycroft continued, “I have to go. I miss you very much, and my scheduled return will not be compromised. Be well.”

“Love you Myc. Be safe.”

"Love you too Gregory."

 

-click-

****

**#####################**

****

**Saturday, 3.24am**

Thursday and Friday came and went, leaving Greg in a state where he couldn’t even recognise himself in the mirror. He hadn’t shaved since Tuesday and had survived on two portions of Chinese fried rice, six donuts, eight pots of coffee and a dozen cigarettes. He had promised Mycroft he would quit, but not going cold turkey. The stress of the cases that week wasn't helping with it either.

On Tuesday after getting caught, Sherlock had announced that him and John would be unreachable for the entire week. Apparently Sherlock had whisked John away to Switzerland to celebrate their two week anniversary. Sherlock’s newfound obsession with John came in handy when there wasn’t a case a week ago, but now with six murder cases on his hands, Greg wished Sherlock would help. The fourth murder involved a young teenage girl, and John forced Sherlock to take the case. Greg had all the case files emailed over to Sherlock.

By Saturday morning, Sherlock had solved the fourth case, which happened to be a serial murder case related to the one Sally was leading, and Greg solved the other five. He spent the entire Saturday making arrests and filing paperwork. Dull, but he was glad it was all over.

By 3am, he was home. He settled for a few slices of leftover pizzas from Wednesday and a bottle of beer, snuggling in his nest in the living room.

****

**4.15am**

“Gregory.”

“Mmpphhh…”

“Hey love. I’m home.”

“Myc. Come ‘ere…”

Greg pulled Mycroft into his nest, held his freckled lover close, planted kisses all over his face, neck and stripped him down to his pants. They spent the rest of the early morning in each other’s arms, enjoying the warmth of the other in the comfort of their own home.

****

**9.20am**

Greg woke up to the light snores of his lover. The soft morning sun peeped through a slit from the curtains. He slowly got out of Mycroft’s hold and stretched before he noticed the state of the living room around him. It was a hellish mess… and Mycroft is in the middle of it.

_Maybe he didn’t notice it last night because it was too dark… but oh, he won’t miss it now!_

 

Softly but quickly, Greg picked up the empty beer bottles, pizza boxes, disposable coffee cups, empty plates, napkins, a half-eaten donut and cracker crumbs. He threw them all into the trash and hoped the noise didn’t wake Mycroft up. He stretched his neck and head out to find Mycroft stirring but eyes still closed.

_Oh god. Please don’t wake up now. Just five minutes. Please please please._

Greg found himself praying to a deity in the kitchen as he opened the refrigerator…

_This will kill Myc with a heart attack. Damn it Gregory!_

 

A ‘mess’ is an understatement.

 

“Gregory?”

_OH SHIT._

 

“Hey, I’m in the kitchen. Coffee or tea?” Greg put on his best 'nothing is wrong' voice.

“You. Need you now.”

 

Greg was relieved that Mycroft didn’t leave the nest, only motioned his hands for Greg to join him back in the sofa. They spent the next hour catching up on their ‘morning exercises’.

Later that morning while Mycroft was in the shower, Greg couldn’t help but thought of the state of the fridge. It was worse than it was last week, before Giovanni had cleaned it out.

_I need to steer Myc away from the fridge until I can clean it out. Can’t have Giovanni here either… Myc would know. Not Anthea too… I’ll have to do it myself. Yes. Myself._

****

**#####################**

****

**Saturday, noon**

Later that day, Mycroft had to be in his office to sort out some leftover issues from his meetings in North Korea. Greg saw his window of opportunity and sprang into action.

It had been [three years since the first time they went grocery shopping together](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11667486). After the first time (where Mycroft got jealous of the girl working at Tesco because she was flirting with Greg), he insists that they should do their grocery shopping together with the pretense of 'getting to know your preferences better'. By now, they both knew each other's preference of everything from every aisle in Tesco.

He spent two hours in Tesco going through the aisles, making sure he had everything. It would normally take him half the time when Mycroft went shopping with him, or double the time if they made it a date with a few times ended up in the washroom blowing each other's brains out before heading to the check out counters.

Greg made one more stop before heading back home.

He spent another two hours clearing out the fridge and restocking fresh groceries in it, arranging it in the way he knew Mycroft liked.

 

**6.15pm**

The front door opened with a creak. Greg was nowhere to be seen.

_Something feels… different._

Once again, Mycroft frowned at the deja vu of having something moved around in his home. Just as he had done last week, he stood in a corner of the living room, comparing the current scene with his perfect one in his mind.

“Ah!” Mycroft exclaimed and he paced towards the coffee table, readjusting it one inch to the right and 1.83 degrees clockwise, “There we go. Perfect!”

As he turned towards the kitchen, he felt that uneasy feeling again. This time it was the fridge. There was a wide ribbon tied on its handle in a neat bow. Mycroft opened the fridge and found heaven, if it exists. He smiled with a steady flow of happiness flowing through his veins.

_He did this... for me... Oh you do not deserve him Mycroft Holmes. How on earth did you land such a handsome silver wolf who cares about how you arrange your groceries?!_

 

He felt someone hovering behind him, turned around and to no surprise, Greg was there. He had handcuffs in one hand, and a bunch of tangled ropes in the other.

“So, which would you prefer tonight, **Alexander?** ” Greg knew he hated that name, but it was nice to get him riled up for a fight before they go into some kinkier sex. Calling Mycroft by his actual first name always gets him.

“ **Mycroft!** ” He corrected his lover.

“ **Edwin.** ” Greg said provocatively.

“ **Holmes.** ” Mycroft huffed and rolled his eyes, trying to deduce what game they were going to play tonight.

_Clean fridge, neat. Good start. Ropes, I did mention something about being tied up... Handcuffs - ah, for my hands, ropes for ankles. As long as it doesn't cut my wrist, should be fine... Most likely we’ll do it in bed. Paper bags in the trash. He went shopping today, which means we will have enough supplies. We were running out of lube before I left last week--_

 

“ **Lestrade?** ” Greg added out of the blue. He pulled a ring out of the tangled ropes and knelt on one knee.

Mycroft was left in shock for two minutes, the longest two minutes of Greg’s life. His knee was starting to ache when Mycroft whispered...

 

“Yes.”

* * *

* * *

 

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding one more prompt to the list! Original prompt was John proposing to Sherlock.


	5. Straightening The Tuxedos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding bells and some domestic fluff! Found a funny little prompt about choking. A little Johnlock/Mystrade get-together!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full italics sentences are inner thoughts.

“What the fuck is this?!” John belted out on the top of his lungs, stomped out of their bedroom waving a notebook in his hand.

Sherlock stood in the kitchen feigning innocence. He ignored his boyfriend and continued with his experiment.

“William. Sherlock. Scott. Holmes!”

_Uh-oh_. Sherlock knew he was in deep trouble. He had put down the acid-filled beaker the moment he heard ‘William’ being called out. There had only been two other times when John had used his full name. First time was when he yelled out at Mrs Hudson for walking in on them having sex on the sofa. She had only wanted to bring them some cookies she had baked that afternoon, not knowing what she was walking into. Sherlock had rained hell on her, and John was actually angry at Sherlock for behaving that way. The doctor had slept in his old room for a whole week and ignored Sherlock until he had apologised to Mrs H by taking her out for a luxurious champagne brunch.

Second time involved ropes, ice cubes and John’s first aid kit. (A/N: I shall leave you to your imaginations.)

John only called Sherlock by his full name when the detective had crossed certain boundaries, and he felt like this was one of them. He had found Mycroft’s wedding planner stashed under Sherlock’s socks.

“William. Why do you have your brother’s wedding planner? I thought we had made it clear that you need to butt out of it. It’s HIS wedding for god’s sake!”

Sherlock only rolled his eyes. He had no clever comeback or any comments. He only wants what’s best for his brother, but he couldn’t admit to caring so deeply for Mycroft. Some days he wanted to slice Mycroft into a sashimi platter, but most days he just want his older brother to be safe and sound.

“I just want the best for him.”

“Not like this Sherlock! It’s their wedding. Let them have it!”

“Anthea would be doing most of the work anyway. I have better taste in these matters. Just saving everyone some time by being efficient.”

John flipped through the wedding planner. The first few pages had Mycroft and Greg’s scribbles all over. As he got to the middle, there were crossed out words with notes and cut-outs plastered all over the pages. A photo of a red velvet wedding cake caught his eyes and he knew exactly where that came from.

“But he doesn’t even like red velvet cakes! The whole world knows he loves chocolate! You are the one who likes red velvet. If you really want to plan a wedding, I’ll give you a wedding to plan!”

It wasn’t until Sherlock looked up into John’s eyes that John realised what he had just said.

“Really, John?” Sherlock said monotonously, his face screamed ‘sarcasm’. “Mycroft has a clean fridge, Lestrade on one knee with a ring for their proposal… and all I’m getting is this?”

“Hey, the fridge is all your doing. I’m not cleaning up toes, ears and kidneys just because Greg… You know what, sod it. You don’t even want a clean fridge, why are we even arguing about this?”

“Because you’ve just proposed to me without a ring.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

For the first time, Sherlock did not see that coming.

 

**####################**

 

“Oh my dear boy. It’s time!” Mrs Holmes chanted as she straightened Mycroft’s bow tie one last time while the music of The Wedding March chimed in the background.

“Mother…” Mycroft held her hands, stopped her from fiddling his bowtie, “I love you, and thank you.”

He hardly ever expressed his emotions, but when it comes to his mother, he had always, and will always shower her with love and affection. She didn’t bother stifling her sobs and tears rolled down her eyes.

“So proud of you my darling. Now, let your father take you down the aisle.”

 

As Greg stood at the front of the altar, John stood by his side as his best man. The doors of the church opened and Sherlock stood there alone, holding a stalk of bright red rose. As the music played behind the altar on a hundred year old organ, Sherlock walked down the aisle slowly, pacing his steps with the music. John imagined one day he will see his Sherlock walk down the aisle towards him just like that during their wedding. His thoughts were cut short when Greg choked on his own tears. John looked behind Sherlock. The man getting married today stood behind with his father in his arms, walking down the aisle with grace and finesse.

 

The wedding dinner was coming to a close as people started taking their leave. John and Sherlock had disappeared after Sherlock’s performance of a song he wrote for the newlyweds. Greg leaned over to his husband and whispered in his ear.

“Alexander Mycroft Edwin Holmes-Lestrade, I know how much you love your name, and I am honoured to have mine in yours.”

“It’s a mouthful, I don’t mind removing  _ Alexander  _ to fit in  _ Lestrade  _ in official forms.”

“There’s more than enough space for all five words Myc. Thought you should know better, being a minor government official. Plus, your mother wouldn’t be happy about that. She loves that name.”

Mycroft chuckled. It was a rare sight and Greg knew he would be seeing more of that in the future. They had one last slice of cake and retired to their suite.

 

**####################**

 

It had been three months since the wedding. Sherlock and John are now happily engaged, waiting for the right time to announce a wedding date. A week ago, Greg came over with Mycroft and handed them a case in Germany. It was definitely a ten and Sherlock asked if it was their engagement present.

During the case, Sherlock got into a scuffle with a German police officer and received a punch on his face. John didn’t hold back and got into a fist fight with the officer. All three of them were detained pending an investigation. While they were detained, the suspect from the case escaped and fled to Australia. Mycroft brought Greg with him and spent the rest of the month down under after apprehending the suspect on the day they arrived in Melbourne.

John and Sherlock were released after two days. The moment they arrive in London, Sherlock took his own cab and went to Bart’s. Only hours later he remembered to text John that Molly had a fresh corpse for him to dissect, something about a rare blood type and genetic disease. When he returned 18 hours later, he saw John in his own chair, reading a book. His legs froze when he saw something moving in his chair.

“John.”

“Yes?”

“Why is that thing here?”

Sherlock pointed at the puppy snoozing in his chair.

“Adorable, isn’t it? Lestrade’s sister had a litter and asked if we wanted one.”

“We don’t.”

“We obviously do.”

Sherlock sighed and stared at the puppy. “Where am I going to sit then?”

John patted his own lap and grinned, “Here.”

 

**####################**

 

“How’s Felix?” Greg asked while John sipped his cup of tea.

Sherlock had became fond of their new puppy just a few hours into meeting it and had named it Felix after one of their favourite musicians Felix Mendelssohn. The detective had played a few of Mendelssohn’s more difficult pieces including Lieder upon John’s request when they had first became flatmates. Nowadays, Sherlock just make things up as he goes. Once in awhile he does dote on John by playing one of those classic pieces.

“He’s great. Eating and sleeping a lot. Found Sherlock cuddling with him this morning at the sofa fast asleep. He's quite good with the puppy surprisingly.”

“Myc told me they had a dog when they were younger. Redbeard?”

“Yeah, heard about it. It didn’t end well. Sherlock was told that Redbeard went to live at his grandmother’s farm, somewhere in the east.”

Greg was about to tell John how Redbeard passed when he remembered Mycroft’s stern warning. When Mycroft first told Greg about Redbeard, he had warned the DI to never tell a single soul about it, lest Sherlock finds out. The thought of Mycroft punishing him sent shivers down his spine, and he choked on a big mouthful of tea.

“Sounds like they’re getting along well.”

“Yes we are. I am very fond of Felix if you must know.” Sherlock interrupted.

John and Sherlock were at Mycroft and Greg’s for lunch. It had been a quiet week. None of them were surprised when a case popped up for Mycroft, and Sherlock had to butt in when he heard it was a closed room murder. They had left the doctor and DI alone for a few before sneaking back up on them.

“So, what was tha--” Greg coughed and spluttered mid-sentence. His voice was raspy when he continued, “What was that case about? Sorry, choked on air.” Mycroft patted his back, attempted to give his husband a little comfort.

“That’s not the only thing you choked on.” John was referring to the tea earlier, but Mycroft and Sherlock had no idea.

“How did he know? Gregory darling, what on earth do you talk to John about? I’m not too fond of others knowing our business, especially my brother and his fiancée!” Mycroft was blushing and raised his voice slightly in annoyance.

Sherlock caught on to the conversation immediately from Mycroft's body language and laughed really loudly. He would have made disgusting noises and made fun of Mycroft if John wasn’t as clueless as he was at that moment. His fiancée's reaction was what triggered his laughing fit. John wasn’t sure what to think of Mycroft’s remarks or Sherlock's reaction. He was simply concerned that if there was tea lodged in Greg’s nasal cavity, and if that went into his lungs, it may cause a nasty infection.

“John. You do realise what you’ve just done?” Sherlock huffed in between chuckles.

“Wait…” Mycroft looked back and forth between his husband and the confused doctor. “So, you weren’t talking about that?" He asked Greg while his hand mimicked a blowjob near his mouth.

“No Myc. I choked on some tea earlier. Not about me choking on your sex. Doubt it can choke me too.” Greg gave his husband a naughty wink before joining Sherlock in laughter.

“Oh dear.” It was all John could manage before he buried his face in his own hands. He couldn’t stop imagining Greg choking on Mycroft’s--  John yelped and jumped off his chair when Sherlock pinched his arm hard.

_ Of course he knew what I was thinking about… _

“Yes of course I know.”

_ This is so much better than spending Sunday alone. You’ve really saved me Sherlock. _

_ You’re most welcome love. _

John and Sherlock were eyeing each other, reading each other’s conversation in their head. Between batting eyelids and gentle touches, they were not holding back on the flirting, until Mycroft whined out loud.

“Oh god. Please, go home now.”


	6. Straightening Things Out VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:  
> Angst  
> Attempted suicide
> 
> Quoted italics are flashbacks  
> Italics are inner thoughts

“Need I remind you, brother dear, of your own heart?”

It was two weeks before John and Sherlock’s wedding, and they had gotten into a big fight over the wedding cake. The universe knew Sherlock loved red velvet cake, but John wanted to have an alternative, or a second cake for their guests. Sherlock wouldn’t budge. It was a small squabble until John brought back unpleasant memories, and Sherlock overreacts like the drama queen he is.

 

> _ “Why must it always be your way?” _
> 
> _ “You said you’d let me plan the wedding!” _
> 
> _ “Right, because I have no say in anything?! Just like old times, huh Sherlock? When you decided to jump off that bloody roof and left me to die of heartbreak?!” _
> 
> _ “Heartbreak? Oh John. You have no bloody idea what you’re talking about… How dare you.” _
> 
> _ Sherlock stormed out of the flat without his coat and ended up in Mycroft’s office. _

 

“But you did jump off that building. He was well aware of why, but you too Sherlock, had no idea what he had been through. Things were… rough… in the first couple of months.”

“What is it that he’s been hiding from me?”

“He wanted to be with you…”

“But I was dead.”

“Yes, brother. Now, in what way he would be able to be with you again if you were dead?”

Only one word came to Sherlock’s mind - suicide.

“No. He wouldn’t have.”

“He almost did.”

“Shit. What have I done, Mycroft?”

 

> _ “Please, Mycroft. Just leave me alone.” _
> 
> _ “No doctor Watson. I promised Sherlock to keep an eye on you.” _
> 
> _ “Don’t you DARE MENTION HIS NAME. You were part of it, hmm? I’m sure you were. You could’ve kept the news from going out? I can think of eight ways to salvage the situation and you did nothing… ABSOLUTELY NOTHING FOR YOUR BROTHER! My Sherlock…” _
> 
> _ John sobbed on the floor of 221B and cradled Sherlock’s coat in his arms, unconsciously rocking himself back and forth to soothe himself. It had only been a month since Sherlock jumped off the roof of St. Bart’s, and Mycroft had came with Sherlock’s belongings. In an attempt to pull John out from the messed up flat, he ended up being on the receiving end of John’s wrath. _
> 
> _ “John… don’t do this to yourself. He wouldn’t want you to. You know that.” _
> 
> _ “I’d rather… let him tell me that… himself. But he can’t now, can he? When will I be able to see him again...” _
> 
> _ In the week that followed, Mycroft had assigned two of his best security detail to follow John around. He had only left the flat to go to Sherlock’s grave. _
> 
> _ At the end of that week, Mycroft got an emergency beep from Anthea, followed by Greg. _
> 
> **_LAZARUS. -A_ **
> 
> **_John rooftop gun wearing belstaff. -G_ **

 

“He was thorough… If we had pulled him off the ledge, he would have shot his own head. If we had pulled the gun away from him, he would have jumped… You have Mrs Hudson to thank for John being alive, Sherlock. She begged him out of it. He was wearing your coat. Determined, that doctor of yours… he was really going to do it... if it means he could see you again.”

 

> _ “John, oh dear John, please. Don’t do this. I miss him as much as you do… If you do this, how am I to live on my own at this old age? Please don’t leave me too, please!” _

 

Mrs Hudson’s voice echoed in Mycroft’s head. He recalled her desperate pleas, on her knees behind John. She had been crying so much until there were no tears left. John only turned around when he heard her wail. He could not have left her there on her knees. His didn’t have the heart to do it.

“None of you ever thought to tell me about this?” Sherlock said calmly. He had his face in his hands, quietly letting his tears fall as Mycroft recounted the months after he had jumped.

“When you came back, John had confided in us to keep that a secret. He had lost you once, and you almost lost him for good. So now, please, be a good boy and go home.”

Sherlock said no more. He picked himself up and left as quickly as his long legs could take him.

 

“John?”

Sherlock saw the love of his life on the floor, cradling his belstaff. 

_ He had been crying. Rocking himself back and forth… _

It was all too familiar after what Mycroft had told him earlier.

“Listen, Sherlock, I’m sorry. I’ll let you have the cake, alright? I’m sorry I brought  _ that  _ up… I wasn’t thinking… I hate this. I hate fighting with you.”

“John. No. I shouldn’t have…” Sherlock broke down in tears, “I almost lost you for good, John. So… no. We will have whatever you want. Just don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

John sighed as he pulled Sherlock close. The doctor felt his lover patting around his body, obviously looking for something. He was about to ask when he realised the cat is out of the bag. Sherlock patted him down in places where he would have held a gun.

“Mycroft told you.”

The detective could only nod. He was lost for words. In his heart he believed that nothing he can ever say or do would heal that wound he had caused John. 

If only the circumstances were different, if only.

“It’s in the past love. Don’t do this. We’ve moved on, yeah? Getting married! I’m yours forever now, hmm?”

“Yes John, forever. And I you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short angst-y chapter. I've always wanted to write about how John almost went to the other side to join Sherlock.  
> But all is well, and wedding bells are still ringing!


	7. Straightening The Family Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John visits the Holmes manor for the first time and finds out some family matters.  
> Mummy Holmes is a BAMF.
> 
> Quoted italics are John's thoughts.

“You know how it upsets mummy.”

“I upset her?”

 

**###################**

 

The Holmes brothers both piled in an SUV, along with their partners. They were in their separate cars on their way back to the Holmes manor to visit Mrs Holmes when the younger Holmes’ car broke down (it was Mycroft’s car). They were forced to cram into Mycroft and Greg’s. The DCI (yes a promotion, and no, Mycroft had nothing to do with it) sat in front with the driver while John sat in between Sherlock and Mycroft at the back.

“You have shorter legs, John. The center wouldn’t be as uncomfortable for you as it would for me.”

 

It was awkward silence along the way, until they arrive at a small town minutes away from the manor.

“Sherlock. Please greet mummy properly this time.” Mycroft’s instruction broke the silence in the car.

“Mummy?” John snorted trying to stifle a laugh.

 

 

> _How ridiculous! Two grown men still calls their mother ‘mummy’! The British Government call his mother… MUMMY!_

Sherlock and John’s wedding just happened two days ago. Mycroft insisted that they visit Mr and Mrs Holmes before the honeymoon. The brothers didn’t speak much about their family, and Sherlock had certainly never mentioned that both his parents lived in a manor in Yorkshire.

“Right, your first visit… John, they are both mummy’s _sweetheart_. In her eyes, they both still wear diapers and can’t put on their own clothes. She’s really lovely. I think she will be very fond of you too.” Greg chimed in, chuckled as he said the word ‘sweetheart’. It brought out the laughter John was holding back and they both roared out with glee.

“She was upset the last time Gregory and I visited that Sherlock refused to come along.”

“When was that?”

“Few days before you both broke into my place.”

“Oh.” Memories of them going at it like rabbits crossed John’s mind. They had just labeled themselves as lovers that week and spent four whole days in the bedroom, only time leaving it was to use the bathroom or to prepare food.

 

 

> _Shit. Bad time to think about… that._

Sherlock caught John’s blush and grinned.

 

 

> _Shit shit shit. Not good. I’m about to meet his mother and I’m having a fucking hard on. Brilliant…_

John sighed and slumped as the car came to a stop. They have arrived.

 

“Oh my darlings! Sweethearts!”

All four men stood still and turned towards the front door when they heard a voice squealing from that direction.

“Hello mummy. I hope you’ve been well.” Mycroft took one step towards her and gave her a genuine smile and a bear hug.

“Hi mom. You look lovely!” Greg greeted once his husband let go of the sweet old lady.

“Hi darling. I missed you both so much. _And looky look! Hello my baby boy!_ ” She sing-songed and reached out to Sherlock.

“Good to see you too mummy. This is John Watson, my other half.”

“Hmm,” she cocked her head and raised her eyebrow while examining John, “glad you found someone to tolerate your dramatic tendencies.”

John immediately recognised the head-cock and raised eyebrow.

 

 

> _So this is where they both got it from..._

“Alright now, grab your bags and come in. Your dad has been anxious all day to see all of you.”

 

**###################**

 

Siger Holmes and Violet Sherrinford were absent from Sherlock & John's wedding. They were happy for them, but it wasn’t easy for them to accept the fact that all three of their sons were gay, and they won’t be expecting grandchildren in the near future with their jobs.

“Mrs Holmes--”

“Oh no. Call me mom. You’re my son now!”

“Uh… mom, well, I wanted to ask if you actually got our invitation to the wedding?” John was suspicious when Sherlock said they had declined. He half-suspected that Sherlock didn’t even call or send them the invitation.

“Well, Siger and I were traveling. Besides, we know our son is in good hands. You had, and you always will have our blessings. We are truly happy for you both. Sorry you had to wait so long to meet us though.” She held John’s hand on the table and smiled fondly at him.

“I’m the only normal one in the family, you see. Glad to have you and Greg around! You know how William and Alexander are… They both got that from their mother. Not too fond of strangers’ company.” Siger smiled and said while scooping the bread pudding out from the tray into smaller bowls.

As John ate his share of pudding (oh, it was heavenly), Sherlock told his parents about their wedding, from the planning all the way down to the small details like the number of eggs used to bake their wedding cake.

 

“Was Sherrinford there?” Violet asked, and the question was obviously directed towards Mycroft.

While Violet and Mycroft talked about Sherrinford’s recent appearances around South East Asia, John zoned out and subconsciously joined Greg in the kitchen. They both had a beer in silence while John kept thinking about the same question.

“Who is Sherrinford?”

“Oh John. Right, Sherlock probably never said a word about this either. Sherrinford is their eldest brother. Mycroft’s the middle child and your husband is the spoiled youngest.”

“Really? Wow. That explains a lot about Myc.” John stated.

“Hey, it’s Mycroft for you, mate. Myc’s for my lips only.”

“Sorry, it’s just… I can’t believe it, this. It’s all so surreal. I’m married to a man, a really sexy man. Weird, but _oh_ god. Sexy.”

“Tell me about it. Don’t think too much about Sherrinford. I didn’t find out until we were here last. I’ve only met him once when Myc and I were in Japan. He’s odd too. Quiet man. And I think sexy is an understatement. You could probably tell by now how they ended up with such good looks.”

“Even the blind could mate.”

 

**###################**

 

“Mummy. Stop it!”

Sherlock threw his arms around John and pulled the doctor away from the coffee table. The morning after they had arrived at the Holmes manor, Violet brought out boxes of old albums. They were stored away in the basement, boxes labelled “Sherly” with little hearts and honey bees drawn all over. She was showing John some of Sherlock’s baby photos over a cuppa while Sherlock was still sleeping. When he woke up and heard the laughters of his mother and husband, he knew exactly what was happening.

“What?! It’s not like he hasn’t seen you naked darling.”

Sherlock’s face blushed. He hissed at his mother while Mycroft was coming down the stairs.

“Sherlock! Apologise to mummy, NOW.” Mycroft’s voice boomed in the large hall. John’s eyes widened. He had never heard Mycroft this stern before, and given that they had been in plenty of trouble in London, this is by far the worse trouble Sherlock is in with Mycroft.

“You know how it upsets mummy when you do that.”

“I upset her? Have you forgotten what you did to her Koi fishes?”

“That was an accident. How dare you use that against me! And you ruined her garden by plucking the flowers off to make dye!”

“I wanted to make a dress and mummy was allergic to synthetic dyes!”

“By killing her whole garden?”

“I was five!”

“And I was seven!”

“Mummy loved that dress I made for her.”

“And I built her a new pond, and new Kois.”

“You paid someone to build the pond!”

“You had dad sew the dress!”

“I was too young to hold sharp objects.”

“Didn’t stop you from trying to buy plutonium on the dark web.”

“And you got into big trouble with MI5.”

“Mummy still loves me more.”

“Oh, in your bloody dreams, Mycroft.”

“Fuck you too Sherlock.”

 

**###################**

 

While the brothers were still bickering about ‘who mummy loves best’, Greg joined John and Violet. It was quite a scene.

“Fuck you too Sherlock.” Mycroft spat and lost his cool for a split second.

Suddenly a loud _smack_ echoed in the hall. Violet had reached across and swatted Mycroft’s ass.

“Watch your language Alexander. Don’t want your father to hear that, do you?”

“Sorry mummy.” He lowered his head apologetically.

“Now, I’m going to town and get some things for lunch. You boys play nice, alright?” She stood from her chair and turned towards Greg and John, “Look after your husbands. I want this house still standing when I come back.”

 

While she was out, Mycroft was in his old study going over some urgent matters, Sherlock was in the basement with Siger trying out a new homemade fuel formula for his vintage motorcycle, leaving Greg and John in the backyard.

“They actually fight like children.”

“Yeah. Myc did that with Sherrinford in Japan too. But they really mean no harm. It’s just all talk.”

“You mean, Mycroft Holmes, the man who runs the British Government, means no harm?”

Greg chuckled, “Well, they are brothers. It would be weird if they didn’t fight.”

“You know what happened to the Kois?”

“Yeah. Myc left the tap on and drained the oxygen from the pond. Killed all of mom’s Koi fishes.”

“But he was seven.”

“And he lied about the fishes. Mom really didn’t care about him killing all her fishes, it was the lying that she was mad about. He got into serious trouble. He had to hike six hours with dad carrying all those heavy fishes up the hill and bury them with a spoon.”

“No wonder he’s in politics.”

“Yup.”

* * *

* * *

 

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)


	8. Straightening The Code Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter about Sherlock and John communicating in Morse code!  
> There's a little surprise at the end with (obvious) clues to the next chapter! xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Name in bold** : _Italics sentences are tapped in Morse code._

John, Sherlock, Violet and Siger were at the dinner table waiting for Mycroft and Greg to come back from their evening walk. They were getting a little impatient when Sherlock started to tap on the table while John replied back tapping on his own lips.

 

Sherlock had been doing this since the first day they had met at St Bart's. He tapped “I love you” in Morse code on solid surfaces every chance he got when John was around, because it’s better to get it out of his chest like this without John realising than not getting it out at all. Except John knew. Sherlock had tapped it out of habit when they were at Baskerville, not connecting the fact that John understood Morse code and what he was tapping in Morse.

The day Sherlock realised was when John tapped his own lips while Sherlock was staring at him reading, the day after they had broke into Mycroft and Greg’s place.

 **Sherlock** : _John, I love you._

 **John** : _I love you too you stupid git._

 

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Did you just…”

“Yes I did. Thought you would have noticed in Baskerville years ago.”

“I did, but I hadn’t connected that fact and my habit.”

“You’ve been doing that since the day we met.”

“On every surface, yes. Because I do love you John, with every cell in my body.”

“Quite apparent. Did you know some of the guys in Lestrade’s team knows Morse? They started the bet and the talk about us being a couple all those years because you couldn’t stop tapping ‘I love you John’ in the Yard.”

“But I do love you John.”

“I know, love. Come here.”

 

**###################**

 

**Back at the dinner table**

**Sherlock** : _Captain John._

 **John** : _Are we doing this now?_

 **Sherlock** : _Why not._

 **John** : _Inappropriate because your parents are here?_

 **Sherlock** : _They don’t know Morse._

 **John** : _Are you sure?_

 **Sherlock** : _Thirty years with my brothers._

 **John** : _Don’t talk about your brothers just before you are about to talk dirty to me darling._

 **Sherlock** : _I want to bend you over this table and take you._

 **John** : _Suck your cock under the table while you’re having breakfast._

 **Sherlock** : _I’m hard John._

 **John** : _Me too. Can we just skip dinner and go shag each other senseless?_

 **Sherlock** : _I wish we could, but we have probably used up all our medical excuses. Maybe you could just drop the butter knife now and crawl under the table to suck me off._

 **John** : _Or I could spread butter all over your prick and lick you slowly, make you hold back moans while keeping up that conversation you’re having with mom right now._

 **Sherlock** : _You know I’ll lose my mind when you do it slow._

 **John** : _You think the kitchen has whipped cream stocked?_

 **Sherlock** : _I have a can in the bag._

 **John** : _Fuck me. You came prepared love._

 **Sherlock** : _Fuck you indeed, John. I need you so bad right now._

 **John** : _Sherlock. You always know the right things to say._

 

Just when John finished tapping his message, a loud creak echoed through the house. Mycroft and Greg walked in (finally!) an hour late for dinner. They took a walk around the estate, Mycroft showing Greg the places he grew up in, where he had his alone time and where Sherlock would hide when Mommy was angry. The moment he sat down at the table, he heard a familiar tapping on the table.

 **Sherlock** : _John, I love you. You are my universe, my everything. You are my conductor of light, my shining star, my captain._

“William! Stop that right now.”

Violet could not take it anymore. She had been enduring the constant tapping for the past hour on the dinner table. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know why Sherlock does it all the time. Since they were young, the three Holmes brothers had a bad habit of tapping their feet when they are bored. When Sherrinford first learnt the Morse code, he had taught it to his two younger brothers. Ever since, they have been communicating in Morse code in family functions, royal dinners and parties where they would rather not be at.

Mrs Holmes was smarter than all three of them combined. She knew exactly what they have been up to, but kept it a secret to herself for the past thirty years. For three decades, she had been observing and understanding her children’s minds through Morse code! They would call each other names, swear at each other, but most of the time it would be mind boggling conversations about chemicals, deducing dirty secrets of the people around them and the occasional political discussion.

 

 **Sherlock** : _I love you John. I hope you know that._

 **Mycroft** : _Shut up Sherlock. You know I can understand you._

 **Sherlock** : _Then stop eavesdropping._

 **Mycroft** : _You know this is a one sided conversation?_

 

At this moment, John decided it was time to use the solid wooden table to make himself heard.

 **John** : _Who said it was? Thought you had my file. Everyone ranked in the army must know Morse code._

 

 **Violet** : _Stop it boys. It’s disgusting enough that Sherlock and John were tapping about sex on the dinner table._

 

“Mommy. Did you just…”

“Thirty years boys. I heard every single conversation you three were having since you were six, Mycroft.”

 

_Tap tap tap--_

 

They all turned towards Greg with their eyes opened wide.

 **Greg** :  _We are adopting a baby next week._

 

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

 

**A Quick Guide to Morse code:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've upped the rating since last chapter for this. A bit of dirty talk, no smut, but cock sucking isn't something you'd rate M.


	9. Straightening The Kids Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family is growing. Greg and Mycroft are adopting!  
> How would she grow up to be around a bunch of whackjobs?

Fourteen years ago today, Mycroft and Greg had adopted a baby girl from Sherlock’s homeless network. Greg had always wanted children and before the Watson-Holmes wedding they had discussed it extensively, and both agreed to start a family together.

 

**Thirteen years & nine months ago**

“Mom, this is Shirley Violet Lestrade-Holmes.”

“Oh you named her middle name after me! My dears! Look at her, she is beautiful! How old is she now?”

“Twelve weeks. Shirley was Gregory’s late-mother. We thought we would name her after the two women who gave us life.”

Violet was cooing at Shirley, a small trail of happy tears ran along her cheeks. She was more than ecstatic. Thrilled. Mind-blown.

There was simply not enough words to describe how she felt when she held her granddaughter for the very first time. Shirley was happy to be in her arms too.

 

**###############**

 

When Shirley turned one, they had a huge party at the manor. Molly was there with her husband and her twins, Mrs Hudson brought her entire book club with her. The older ladies and their grandchildren were invited by Violet. She had been part of the book club for close to four decades! Sherlock only deduced it two weeks before the party when Mrs Hudson baked six different flavoured cakes in ten days. He was suspicious until his landlady had accidentally slipped that she is baking for Shirley’s party.

While the children played in the vast backyard with pony and plane rides (John, Greg and Siger basically) the ladies were busy decorating the hall with flowers, balloons and sashays.

The three Holmes’ brothers were nowhere to be seen.

 

“SHERRY! MIKEY! BILLY!” Violet yelled at the top of her voice towards the stairs. Within four seconds, everyone could hear the shuffles and footsteps of the three Holmes’ brothers, rushing down to the hall where everyone was waiting to start the party.

“What were you boys doing hiding upstairs?”

“Do we even need to tell you Mummy? I’m sure you already know the second we got into your peripheral vision.” Sherlock (Billy, because Violet named him William) said sulkily.

“We have a surprise for the birthday girl. But after the cake!”

With that, Sherrinford indicated the start of the party. Majority of Greg’s team was there. Everyone had a complimentary day-off courtesy of the British Government. It was a great party until a call from the Yard pulled his entire team back to work. Greg had took a personal week off and Donovan was left in charge. It was a triple closed room homicide, which meant Sherlock and John left with the team. As evening fell, all their guests had said their goodbyes, leaving the immediate Holmes family in the room sat in a tight circle.

 

Greg was holding Shirley when Mycroft walked towards them and gave his husband a sweet kiss on the lips, then turning over to his daughter and nuzzled her cheeks. Sherrinford held out a key, engraved with Shirley’s initials - SVLH.

“Go on now Mycroft.” The eldest of the Holmes’ brothers gave him a little shove. Mycroft held Greg’s hand tightly as he led his husband and daughter up the stairs. Greg had Shirley in his left arm and the key in that hand while his right hand gripped tight in Mycroft’s.

“Open it.” Mycroft let go of Greg’s hand and gestured towards the door.

“Oh god. Did the three of you do this? It’s beautiful!”

“Greg, I’d like for us to move back here when Shirley is old enough.”

In the first three years, Greg slowly phased out of his job as the DCI and turned down the offer for another promotion as the Chief Superintendent. Sherlock was the first to complain. His liaison in the Yard had vanished and became a full-time househusband to his irritable brother. When Shirley was three, Mycroft had announced publicly of his retirement and in the upcoming two years he will be phasing out. Anthea’s name was submitted to take over Mycroft’s position.

Following the year of Mycroft’s retirement announcement, the Watson-Holmes couple had also decided to adopt a baby girl - Rayna Alexandria Watson-Holmes.

Shirley was 6 and Rayna was 3 when Mycroft retired officially.

 

**###############**

 

Shirley was turning fifteen today. She had moved back to London last year, sharing a room with Rayna (John’s old room) in 221B while Mycroft and Greg were on a two year hiatus in the North Pole. Ever since their retirements and Shirley turning six, they had both spent seven years until she was thirteen homeschooling her and travelling the world together.

Shirley had grown to be a fine young lady. She was smart, independent and strong. While they travelled across the globe, she made friends, learnt different cultures, understanding politics and religions, but most of all, she had a great palette. During their six weeks across north and south India, he had noticed Shirley’s curiosity with the thousands of spices and how she could identify the slight differences between cuisines from one town to the next. Apparently Mycroft had noticed as well. They had both encouraged her to pursue on that path. Greg had taught her how to cook, and Mycroft taught her the technique the Holmes’ brothers had with cataloguing information in her mind.

At fourteen, she was the youngest to be enrolled in Le Cordon Bleu. The location of the prestigious culinary academy meant she had to move away from the Holmes’ manor in Sussex and back to London. Her parents knew she was in safe hands living with John and Sherlock, therefore leaving her while they went for an expedition in the North Pole for two years.

 

“Uncle Billy! Let’s go already!”

“Papa! Daddy! Come on!”

Shirley and Rayna were ready at the front door with Mrs Hudson, excited to attend Shirley’s fifteenth birthday party at Angelo’s. The owner of the restaurant had called earlier to inform Shirley that all her guests had arrived, and she will be late if she doesn’t leave in the next three minutes. Like both her fathers, she had a habit of being on time. Not early, not late, but arriving at just the time you’re expected to.

A black sedan rolled up the front door of 221B as John and Sherlock came down. The door opened and Anthea was standing in front of them.

“Anthea!” Both the girls yelled and hugged her tight.

“Happy birthday Shirley. You’re going to be late. Same as always, Sherlock?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was occasionally contacted by Anthea to help with some cases as Mycroft did when he was in her position.

John took a quick peek in the car and saw a young man typing away on a Blackberry.

“So, you have your own PA now too?”

“Aaron. He’s been around since I was Mycroft’s PA. You’ve just never met him. Come along now. We need to get going.”

Mrs Hudson and the girls were escorted into another sedan behind Anthea’s. John and Sherlock was travelling with Anthea, discussing about a recent case that caught wind in the media.

 

“So Anthea, there’s more than one of you in the secret service then?” John had always been curious about Mycroft’s old job and hoped Anthea would indulge him with some little secrets.

“There’s a chain of us. It’s all I can say. We are, after all, just chess pieces of the game.”

“Don’t play coy Anthea. You are the chess master now.”

She gave them a smile without an answer and masterfully changed the subject back to the case they were discussing before John’s interruption.

“We are here.”

 

**###############**

 

The birthday lunch was fantastic. Angelo had prepared Shirley’s favourite quiche and opened his kitchen for her to bake a cake with her friends. Even Rayna had a great time learning from the elite junior chefs and decorated the cake together with two of Shirley’s friends - Michael and Justin.

After the party, a few of Shirley’s friends went back to 221B with the Watson-Holmes. Six of them to be exact. Michael, Justin, Rachael, Carol, Felix and Delilah. They were all older than Shirley by a few years, all under eighteen.

Rayna and her dads had left Angelo’s before them. When the teenagers arrived, Sherlock was perched on his chair like a hawk, eyeing Shirley’s friends (especially the boys) when they walked through the door.

It was no secret who Shirley’s family was. Her uncles were the famous detective-doctor duo, her dad was a former DCI and her father was (and still is) one of the most powerful man in the world.

Sherlock frowned when Michael walked in. Shirley gestured for him to walk over to Sherlock.

“Uncle Billy. This is--”

“Your boyfriend. Interesting. Does your fathers know?”

She blushed. He blushed.

“He is clearly hoping to shag you tonight, judging by the tin of mints and packet of condoms in his pocket. He shaved this morning, trimmed his nose hair and--” Sherlock stood up and stretched his long body closer to Michael and sniffed, “obviously wearing new pants. The formaldehyde is making his skin itch. He has been squirming around since lunch started.” The detective looked Michael straight in the eyes and continued, “You might want to let John take a look at it before you lose your penis to inflamed skin.”

Shirley was used to her uncle’s unfiltered deductions but Michael was shocked. Before Shirley could say a word, Sherlock went on.

“Disqualified, choose wisely next time Shirley. Your fathers would be disappointed in this choice.”

“Uncle Billy!” Shirley was tearing up when she stomped up to her room and Michael left without saying a word. Her best friend, Rachael, ran up after her trying to console her.

“Sherlock. What did you do now?” John was oblivious to the whole situation. When Rayna recounted what her Papa had said, her Daddy pulled the tall lanky man into the bedroom. The young Watson-Holmes knew what was going to happen next and promptly went upstairs into her bedroom.

 

**###############**

 

“What do you mean you want to move out?”

Rayna was sitting next to Shirley when they had a short video call with Mycroft.

“Uncle Billy just went at him. Father, I’m fifteen already! If he keeps that up, he’s going to drive all my friends away!”

“But was Michael carrying condoms with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Which meant he was.”

Shirley could hear her père behind her father.

“Can I talk to père please?”

“Hey sweetie pie! How’s my masterchef doing?”

Shirley told Greg the story again. When it was over, Greg looked at Mycroft and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

“OH GOD! That’s Sherlock! Can you imagine when Rayna brings back a boy or a girl? Ahhh-- my stomach hurts!! But look, your uncle is just looking out for you. It’s really not that bad. It will be worse for Rayna because your father is going to kidnap all her friends in a black SUV and bring them to an abandoned warehouse and offer them money to spy on you!”

“Uncle Greg! Uncle Mike! Please don’t do that! Papa’s already driving all my friends crazy every time they come around!”

“You know there’s a little piece of news spreading that I heard from Anthea. All the teenage boys within the twenty kilometer radius of Baker Street are terrified to court either one of you?” Mycroft said while trying not to laugh.

“You mean the entire teenage male population in London.”

“England.”

“Great Britain.”

“The UK.”

“The British Isles.”

“The Commonwealth.”

“The world.”

“The known universe.”

“And the unknown.”

Greg and Mycroft continued each other sentences until they had reached the end and laughed between themselves. Shirley was not amused at all.

“Bye père. Bye father.”

“Bye girls. Love you both very much. Bear with Sherlock. He meant no harm.”

“I know père. Love you both very much too.”

“Bye uncle Greg, uncle Mike.”

 

**###############**

 

And Greg Lestrade-Holmes really jinxed it. After their expedition to the North Pole had ended, they settled back down in London and Shirley moved back in with them. She was twenty-two and was working under a Michelin-star chef. Rayna was eighteen when she went out on her first date. He never showed up.

Because Mycroft kidnapped him, brought him to an abandoned warehouse where all both Lestrade-Holmes’ and Watson Holmes’ were there. The boy was terrified and never spoke to Rayna ever again.

When Rayna found out about the kidnapping a day later, she was furious. Guess who sorted the problem for her?

 

**Grandma Holmes.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, grandma Holmes had swooped in to save the day! If you must know, she made the four grown men trim the entire backyard with one lawn mower and three small pairs of scissors. Made them fight for it. In the end, Greg won the lawn mower, which meant he had to do it all while Sherlock, John and Mycroft sat under the apple tree with their scissors!
> 
> This reminded Greg of the story when Mycroft had to bury mom's Koi fishes with a spoon...


	10. Straightening Things Out X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Mystrade.
> 
> Mycroft Holmes, MI6. The active duty years.

Alexander Mycroft Edwin Holmes-Lestrade wasn’t always his name. As long as Gregory Lestrade had known him, he was  _ The British Government _ , or Mycroft Holmes. The first two years they’ve known each other, Greg has always called him  _ Sunshine _ in his fantasies, not knowing why or how that pet name came from.

But Mycroft knows.

You see, Mycroft wasn’t always  _ The British Government _ . He had to go through the ranks and he was once a field agent too. Before he started desk duty, he was known as Mike, also known as 006 replacing Alec Trevelyan.

The first day Mycroft reported for duty, he was sent to NSY to retrieve a document from the Chief. The Yard had stumbled upon a body left over from 0011’s task, a ricochet bullet killing an innocent man.

“Chief, orders from above. Nothing we can do about it.”

“Well, nothing we both can do, but my boys won’t let it slide. Tell M that.”

“He knows,” Mycroft took the file held out by Chief, “and the second part of my task is to convince your DI to stay out of it.”

“Good luck.”

His meeting with the DI went south. Mycroft had to retreat from the Yard before a full-on brawl started. As he was leaving, he noticed a young officer in uniform writing him a ticket.

“Hey.” Mycroft ran towards his car and showed the officer his ID.

The young officer took a quick glance and continued writing the ticket.

“Stop it. I’m here on official business.” Mycroft said as he snatched the officer’s pen.

“Then you should know better to follow the rules.” The officer pulled another pen from his back pocket and continued writing while staring at Mycroft.

Mycroft’s heart skipped a beat when the officer stared straight into his eyes. Those deep brown eyes…

“Here you go. Take a cab next time.”

Mycroft took the ticket without saying another word and kept his eyes on the officer until he was out of sight.

 

* * *

 

“Q, need a personal favour.”

“What do I get in return?”

Flamboyant is the only word to describe Q. He is openly gay and doesn’t filter what he says, which is what makes him such a brilliant quartermaster… the part where he doesn’t filter what he says. Being gay only accounts for his attitude.

“You want a blowjob?” Mycroft winked. There was silence for a few seconds before all the agents started laughing around them.

“He’s already got 004 under the table there!”

“Shut up Bill or I’ll shut it with my cock in your mouth!”

The lighthearted banter in the headquarters never stops. A home Mycroft had earned his way into, a place where all the agents get a little normality in their life of secrecy.

“So, what do you need Mike?”

“This,” Mycroft handed his ticket over to Q, “I need this--”

“Oh a ticket. Fancy that! I’ll rid of it, no problem. Won’t even come out of the system. Small matter baby doll!”

“No, I need to know who was the officer.”

“Hey, no need for revenge eh? But if you do, don’t use any MI6 issued weapons, please. We have enough on our plates with eleven’s ricochet bullet.”

Mycroft chuckled and walked away.

 

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later, he found an unmarked envelope in his letterbox. His heart was pounding when he opened it and pulled up the stack of paper.

**Gregory Johnathan Lestrade**

His name, address, family, training academy, ambition… wait, he wanted to be an inspector with major crimes. So why was he writing parking tickets? Why wasn’t he assigned as a constable or sergeant?

Sixteen pages of detailed history on Gregory was enough to keep his mind full for now. Mycroft spent his entire morning analysing the data he held in his hands. By noon, Mycroft charted Gregory’s hourly, daily, weekly and monthly schedules, along with plans to ‘bump into’ him. It was a good plan, but as always, human error.

Mycroft had not expected Greg to have any interest in him when they first met outside the Yard. On the day Mycroft decided to ‘bump into’ Greg, it opened up a can of worms, good worms.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fancy seeing you here! Have you paid your ticket?”

“Hello. And no. It’s sorted.” Mycroft noticed a frown on Greg’s face and quickly added, “Won’t get you into trouble. Don’t worry.” He bit his tongue when he almost added Greg’s name to the end of the sentence. He wasn’t supposed to know.

It was a Sunday morning, just a few minutes before sunrise. Greg runs through this bagel stand every time before heading back to his flat. Mycroft thought it would be natural enough to ‘bump into’ Greg while buying himself breakfast.

“Greg.” Holding out his hand with a bagel in his other, Greg had made the first move.

“Mike.” He shook Greg’s hand and felt his pulse. Racing.

“Hey,” they were walking down the street with bagels in their hands when Greg stopped at the door of a cafe, “Want to grab some proper breakfast?”

“Of course.”

They threw the bagels into the trash before walking into the shop. It smelled of bacon and coffee. They both ordered a big breakfast and got to know each other between three cups of coffee each. Mycroft had not revealed his name, secret service and all. It posed too great a risk to reveal his identity even if Greg didn’t know who he worked for.

The sun was up when they both were done, and Mycroft was sitting with the sun rising behind him.

That was their first date, and that was when Greg fell in love without knowing.

 

* * *

 

 

Six months after knowing Greg, Mycroft wanted to make his first move and ask Greg out on a date. Also within that time, Mycroft had sneakily arranged for Greg to transfer to major crimes.

_ “Greg speaking.” _

_ “Hello Detective Sergeant. I believe a congratulatory dinner is in order?” _

_ “Hey, Mike! Thanks! How did you know?” _

_ “We both work for Queen and Country. Not difficult to find out. So, dinner?” _

_ “I would love to but I’ve promised to meet the guys at the bar. Would you like to join us? I’m sure they don’t mind.” _

_ “Of course. Text me the address and time. I’ll meet you there.” _

_ “Wonderful! See you tonight.” _

_ “See you.” _

**Greg: Bar across the Yard. 2100.**

But Mycroft never made it, neither did Greg.

 

At 1500, Mycroft was called into M’s office to receive a brief of his next assignment, starting the very same evening. 

**Mike: I will not be able to join you this evening. Work.**

**Greg: Shame. Was looking forward to seeing you again.**

**Mike: Would you be able to meet in an hour? I have some time before I leave.**

**Greg: Of course! Meet me at the same bar.**

 

As Mycroft walked into the bar at 1605, he saw Greg tracing condensation on his glass of beer. He looked nervous, anxious... impatient? 

“Greg. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hey Mike. Want a drink?”

“Water will do. Still on duty.”

“So, you obviously know I’m in major crimes, but I don’t know a thing about what you do.”

“Confidential.”

“MI6?”

Mycroft can only smile at Greg. It seems like he would be an amazing detective afterall.

“Shit, I’m right, am I?”

“Can’t say.”

 

They spent an hour at the bar talking about the weather and Christmas. It was November and Mycroft was dreading to spend a whole week back at home with his brother. He had always been fond of his mummy, but Sherlock was a different story. Greg, on the other hand, was excited to be home with his family for Christmas.

“My mother bakes the best Christmas cookies. You should come and try it sometime…” Greg had realised what he said, but it was too late.

“Did you just invite me over for Christmas at your parents’?”

“Uhm, yeah. Sorry, too soon?”

“Not really. I’ll think about it.”  _ No I don’t need to think about it. Of course I’ll go! _

A quick glance at the clock on the wall brought Mycroft back to reality. “I have to go. See you when I’m back?”

“Yeah, text me… anytime.”

As they walked out of the bar, Greg offered to walk with Mycroft to his car around the corner. It was a kind gesture and they wanted a bit more time with each other without knowing. When they walked by an alley just three cars away from Mycroft’s, he felt a pinch on his neck and saw Greg pulled into the alley before he blacked out.

 

He woke up in a dark room, but there was a small window close to the ceiling, enough to let in some moonlight, but too small to push his own body through.

“Ah, good evening 006.” Mycroft knew better than to struggle. He was chained to the wall and a man with a masquerade mask stood by the door. He looked to his left and saw Greg still out on the floor, chained to the same wall.

“Looks like he’s not waking up anytime soon. So, tell me, where’s Q?”

“Why would you want Q?”

“Maybe because he has information that I want. Or maybe he just gives a bloody brilliant blowjob. I wonder now.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh you do. Tell me, and I’ll let him go.”

“No you won’t.”

“My offer only stands now. The moment I walk away from this door, I have a group of thirsty mercenaries who hasn’t seen daylight for months, and both of you look absolutely ravishing.”

Mycroft scoffed and gave out a loud cough to cover the silent click as he picked his cuffs behind his back.

“Well, here’s my counter-offer: I let none of you go, and shoot all of you many more times than necessary.”

“We patted you down. You both have nice  _ packages _ . I’m sure my lads would enjoy your virgin hole very much too. Ciao!”

As the man turned around, Mycroft pulled away from the cuffs and chains, drew a needle from the sole of his shoe and stabbed into the man’s shoulder.

“We have tiny weapons, mister. Or have you forgotten?”

The man fell to the floor, barely breathing. Mycroft straightened his suit and heard a gasp from the room.

“Greg, we are alright. I’ll get you out of here.”

“Mike? What the fuck is happening?”

“Sorry to have dragged you into this, but you need to come with me.”

 

They spent the night debriefed by M at a diner few blocks from where Greg lived.

“... even if you worked for the Yard, we can’t disclose our headquarters’ location, thus, here.”

Greg zoned out. He had forgotten that he asked why they were at a diner instead of the MI6 headquarters.

“Greg?”

“Uh, yeah. Alright. So, that never happened, right?”

“What happened?” Mycroft did not hesitate replying Greg.

“You’re good, Mike.”

M had left without both of them noticing. Mycroft still had to leave for his mission in Russia, but he walked Greg back to his flat before retrieving his car.

And that was the last time Greg had seen Mike.

 

* * *

 

 

The undercover mission in Russia went on longer than MI6 had expected. Mycroft was in deep cover for six years. That also meant he missed Christmas, and Sherlock thought Mycroft had abandoned him.

At the end of his mission, he was shot in the knee. The whole situation was under wraps, but he had suffered a permanent injury, which meant he would not be going back into the field. But his brilliance earned him a spot in the British Government, where he worked eighteen hours a day to fight to the top. He was unstoppable. He did not care for relationships, emotions or any of the petty things that came with those, until he met Greg again.

But Greg did not recognise him. From that day on, Greg only knew him as Mycroft Holmes. Mike never resurfaced.

 

* * *

 

 

**Present day**

“Good morning sunshine.”

 

Mycroft opened his eyes slightly. The sun was already shining and their bedroom curtains drawn. Greg was carrying a tray with breakfast. 

_ Oh it smells good. Bacon and coffee, reminds me of our first date... _

 

“Do you know why you call me sunshine?” Greg had placed the tray on their bed when Mycroft asked the question.

“No idea. Just seemed right. Is everything alright?”

“Everything is great. Just had a wonderful dream about you.”

“Oh, about?”

“You really don’t remember?”

At present day, they had been together for two years. Mycroft had bumped into (for real this time) Greg in the hospital when Sherlock overdosed three years ago.

“Remember what?”

“My parking ticket.”

“You don’t drive, Mycroft. How would you get a parking ticket?”

“The parking ticket you gave me.”

“You have to give me a little more to work with here. I may be a DI now but I’m no Sherlock.”

“Parking ticket, bagels, breakfast, MI6, late night diner. Ring any bells?”

“Mike? Wait, you’re saying that was YOU?”

Mycroft nodded.

“You recognised me all these while and you never said a word?”

“I thought you knew when you first called me sunshine. I suppose I’ve put too much thought into it.”

The smile on Greg’s face told Mycroft everything he needed to know. Greg was delighted with the new information. 

“I suppose we are meant for each other, my sunshine.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)


	11. Straightened Things Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be the final chapter I'm writing for this story. I may revisit in the future if I find another interesting prompt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this before 7th July 2018, there was a mini epilogue with character death. I have removed it from this chapter to explore new chapters with it.

Mycroft was the one who taught Sherlock how to discard sentimentality, but when it came to his own, he did not give his cleaners in his mind a chance to clear them out ever since he had met Gregory Lestrade. In fact, he murdered the cleaners in his mind castle to keep pieces of Gregory around.

Mycroft and Gregory’s daughter, Shirley, was two years old when she was kidnapped and held for ransom. Gregory was already in semi-retirement when it happened, but Mycroft was still in the thick of it.

 

**#########**

 

It was two in the afternoon when it happened. One of Shirley’s bodyguard and nanny had took her out to the park right next to their apartment. A nice sunny day in London was not to be missed.

“Andrew, hold her for a minute would you? I can’t reach her bottle.”

“Or I can get the bottle, and you can keep holding her. She spits at me all the time! Boss isn’t too happy with my dry cleaning bills ya’know?”

“She’s marking her _slaves_!” The nanny laughed as she held Shirley out to Andrew.

But while he was holding her, he felt someone creeping up behind them. In a split second, he wanted to react but he couldn’t risk Shirley getting hurt. He wanted to reach for his gun but his movements were restricted by the toddler’s tiny legs flailing around his arms. Before he could react, he felt the cold metal of a gunpoint behind his neck.

“Hand her over, and we won’t shoot you.”

A woman wearing a large sun hat came around between Andrew and the nanny and swiftly took Shirley off his arms and quickly made her way behind Andrew. There was nothing he could do, not when Shirley is in the midst of firearms.

In fifteen seconds, he heard a car door slam shut and the engines roaring away from the park. He felt the gun lifted away from his head. Turning around, he only saw the nanny out cold next to the pram, and Shirley’s bottle was in pieces, leaving a trail of milk flowing down the pavement towards the pond.

 

**#########**

 

The kidnappers had called and demanded for a million pounds in cash. Gregory was the one who received the call while Mycroft gathered all his fire power into their living room.

“They only want the money. No one politically motivated is stupid enough to do this, nor the mafia. You have enough dirty laundry from all their baskets to obliterate them from this universe.” Sherlock said when he walked into Mycroft’s home.

“It’s me, isn’t it Sherlock? I’m the problem.”

“No, the location of your home is the problem. And that ruby encrusted pram screams ‘ _I’m rich!’_ so loud, anyone who isn’t from London would… Oh.” The detective’s face lit up and had that look - the look when he had something figured out.

“Kidnappers aren’t from London.” Mycroft pondered for a few seconds before yelling for Andrew.

It turns out that the lady who took Shirley had a distinct scar on her face. When it was described to them, Mycroft knew who she was.

“Someone from my past.”

It was during his days in Secret Service when he inflicted the scar on her face. She was the widow of an agent who had went rogue. Mycroft’s mission was to take him out, but his wife was involved in the drug ring too. Even Q did not see that coming, otherwise two or more agents would be sent in on this mission. She had put up hell of a fight and fled before Mycroft could take her out, but he managed to leave a deep cut on her face.

“They will get nothing. I will put more bullets than pounds into their fucking heads.”

And they did.

Mycroft tracked them down within the hour, pulled Shirley out himself and ordered his men to empty their entire armoury into the building. The structure collapsed from the amount of high caliber bullets piercing through walls and there was no doubt that no one in the building survived.

 

**#########**

 

“It’s not your fault Myc. I have never once blamed you for what happened. We have her in our arms now, yeah? I’ve decided to leave the force earlier… tomorrow, actually. Our baby girl will always be with me or you, and I know we would do anything to protect her.”

_You and Shirley would be safer without me. I’m the one they want. They can have my life, but not yours, not Shirley’s._

“Yes, anything to protect her.”

_Even if it leaves my heart broken forever._

 

The next morning, Gregory woke up to a loud wail from Shirley’s crib in their room. As he woke up to get her, he noticed Mycroft’s side of the bed was made… and a letter on the pillow.

 

 

> **_My beloved Gregory,_ **
> 
> **_I am sorry. There are no other words to describe how I feel. While I write this letter, I am reminded of the days we spent together, the life we had and all of those were the best days I will ever have. I will never be able to burn away my past. They will continue to haunt me. You are both safer without me around. Everything has been taken care of. Please, my love, be well, and I will always love you both, miss you both, everyday until the day I die._ **
> 
> **_Yours forever,_ ** **_  
> _ ** **_Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade  
>  _ **

“No, please Myc. No! Come home!” It was all he said the entire day, crying with Shirley in his arms, until he decided to call Mycroft and it rang ten times before going to voicemail.

 

Mycroft sat in a small one-bedroom flat, just twenty minutes away from his home when he heard his phone ring. It was Gregory. He let it ring until it stopped. Seconds later, a voicemail alert came through. He held his phone against his heart while he silently sobbed and played the voicemail.

##  
_Myc, please, come home. We miss you. Shirley has been calling out for you. She misses you so bad. She wouldn’t stop crying, so am I. Please. Come home… I love you._  
##

 

The next day in the evening he received another voicemail.

##  
_Hey love. I suppose you need time to sort out some things in your head, but don’t take too long. Shirley just climbed out of her crib today and ambushed me in our bed. I’m going to let her sleep next to me until you’re home. We miss you, and I will tell you that I love you, and I miss you, everyday until the day I die._  
##

 

And the following day.

_##  
Pa! Pa come home. Shirley miss you so much paaaaaa! I miss your toast. And eggies! _

_Tell your father what you did today._

_I make this hugeeee castle with sand!_

_Hey love. I took Shirley to one of those sensory development places this morning. Did you know they have sand that doesn’t stick to your clothes? Kinetic sand! You need to find out who invented that and give that man a medal. Remember the last time we went to the beach with her? Took us days to get all that sand out of her clothes! I am getting one of those sandbox for Shirley. She misses you. I miss you so much Myc._

_Love you pa! Per love you too!_  
##

 

And the day after.

##  
_Hey love. I’ve been trying to teach Shirley French. I know we haven’t got a chance to discuss this, but I’d like her to call me père. She can’t roll her tongue yet so she kept calling me Per. Oh, Sherlock came by today. Played with Shirley all day and exhausted her. They’re both asleep in the playroom on the cushions. I have to go put her in bed before Sherlock gets a stiff neck. We miss you very much Myc, and we love you._  
##

 

And every night for two weeks until Mycroft came home.

 

**Day 5:**

_##  
Myc! You will not believe what happened today! Shirley used the potty, all on her own! Oh god, I think my heart is about to burst. Our little girl is growing up! You should’ve seen how proud she was--- _

_Papa! Shirley was sooooo good today! Per is happy because I went poo poo myself!_

_Yes love. Papa’s proud of you too, aren’t you Myc? We miss you and we love you._

_Love you papa! Come home soon!_  
##

 

**Day 6:**

##  
_Hello love. How have you been? I’ve just realised I never asked. Have you been eating well? The housekeeper just came by with our usual groceries and I don’t think we need that much without you around. I’ve been cooking dinner for you every night and most of it went to waste. John and Sherlock invited themselves over today and brought home the leftovers. Apparently Shirley’s tastebuds are similar to Sherlock’s. I just found out she hates tomatoes as much as Sherlock does. They both made the same face when I put tomato soup in front of them. You should’ve seen how adorable she was, pouting those lips like you would when I won’t feed you cake. I took pictures, I’ll show them to you when you’re home, yeah? I love you sunshine, and I miss you so bad that my heart aches. Come home soon._  
##

 

**Day 7:**

_##  
Hey sunshine. Nothing much happened today. Shirley ran around the house naked and refused to wear anything but that pair of bunny socks you knitted for her. Bumped my toe on that useless antique table under the roof window. I’m getting rid of it… Nah, I’ll just keep it in storage. Can’t be running around chasing our two year old with all these furniture around. Speaking of which, I am going to spend the next week childproofing everything. Didn’t your decorators think of that when they decorated Shirley’s room? _

_*doorbell ringing in the background*_  
_Ah, that’s John. I’ve asked him over for a drink while Sherlock’s hibernating. I’ll call you again tomorrow. I love you and I miss you so very much._  
##

 

**Day 8:**

##  
_Hello love. How was your day? I hope it wasn’t as bad as mine. Shirley’s fine, but I’m not. Mom called. She asked if we wanted to extend Shirley’s room in the manor since they’re doing some renovations themselves. I told her you were away for work and she said she’ll hold off on Shirley’s room until you’re back. Will you be back? I’m trying my best to be strong Myc, but… the thought of you never coming back… I don’t think I can do it. I will force myself to go through it for Shirley, but the pain… Mycroft, it’s been a week, please. Let me know you’re alright, at least send me a letter, or anything. I just want to hear from you. I will always love you, no matter where you are, but I definitely wish you’d come back and let me love you, right here next to me and Shirley. We miss you, and we love you dearly._  
##

 

**Day 9:**

##  
_Hey sunshine. We just got to the manor today. Shirley’s with mom and dad in the study looking at your baby photos now. Took her out to the top of the hill where you buried the koi fishes earlier. The apple tree is looking good too. Looks like our little girl is really fond of ladybugs and bunnies. Mom took her to town this afternoon and bought her a pet. She was petting it to sleep and they were cuddling in front of the fireplace when I walked in on them. Mom wasn’t buying my story that you’ve left for work though. You know that look she has when she folds her arms and tilts her head up while staring behind you? Still gives me chills when she does that. Well, I hope I don’t have to keep lying to her any longer when you come home. I love you, I miss you, and I want you home._  
##

 

**Day 10:**

##  
_Mycroft. Will you at least *hic* at least drop me a note? I miss you so much. I’ve never expected myself to be the pining kind but apparently I am. You know, your old room still smells like you, especially your closet. It’s the same closet smell we have in our home. Our home… it’s empty without you around. I feel… empty. Shirley and I both need you love. Please… *sob* come home to us. I miss you, I love you._  
##

 

**Day 11:**

_##  
Alexander Mycroft Edwin Holmes-Lestrade! Damn it, come home this fucking instance! I’ve almost had enough Myc. You’re hurting me so bad you have no idea. It’s bullshit! I’ll give you three more days to sort your shit out. Three days, you hear me?! I will fucking hunt you down--- _

_Hey Myc. It’s John. He’s drunk. I’ll take him back to ours. Shirley’s still with Sherlock at Baker Street. Just in case you decide to come back tonight, they’re crashing at our place._  
##

_\-------------_

From: [ sh@consultingdetective.co.uk  
](mailto:sh@consultingdetective.co.uk)To: mh@gov.uk

Dear brother,

You need to come back this instance. You know full well leaving your husband and child behind will not keep them out of harm’s way. I despise getting involved with your domestics but this is becoming an inconvenience to my sex life. Unless you want to hear about it in explicit details, I suggest you show up in the next three days as your husband has suggested.

SH

 

**Day 12:**

##  
_Myc, two more days, then at least, please, drop me a note. I want to at least know if you’re alive or not. And did you really have to go to the extreme of moving your entire office away? Sherlock was there yesterday and he told me it was an empty warehouse now. You are going to such extreme to avoid me… you can’t blame me for wondering if it was something I did wrong. Was it? What happened to Shirley, was it because of who you are, or because of who I’m not? Am I not good enough? I’m getting tired Myc. I need you to come home and trust me with your feelings, because right now I don’t trust myself any more… oh, and Shirley still won’t take off those socks. She’s been wearing them for days now, and I barely got them out to wash and dry this afternoon. Put them back on her feet just as she was waking up. She knew I touched them and screamed bloody murder! I had to sing that lullaby you sang every night… she fell asleep mumbling papa. She really misses you, and I miss you more than anything. I would give anything to have you back by our side. I love you Myc._  
##

 

**Day 13:**

##  
_Papa! Shirley miss you! I ate two toasties today! Per is not eating so I feed Per grapes when we watch the telly. Miss Molly came to see me today and her baby is my friend now. I have a friend papa! When are you coming home? Shirley miss you. Per miss you too papa!_  
##

Mycroft could hear the sounds from the television and the fainted sounds of Gregory’s snores.

_“Alexander Mycroft Edwin Holmes, I promise to be your best friend, your biggest supporter, your guide, your lover and your husband, for as long as I shall live. And I will love you, and fall deeper in love with you every single day.”_

The echoes of Gregory’s vows were recorded behind Shirley’s voicemail.

_“Gregory Johnathan Lestrade, I promise to stay by your side, even if the sun fades away. I will always be by your side, to shield you, protect you, even if it costs me my life. You are the love of my life, and you will always be the first person I turn to, in happiness or sadness, even before myself. I love you.”_

His own vows replayed in his head. He had broke his vow.

 

**Day 14:**

Gregory stood by the window after putting Shirley to bed. He had built a fort on Mycroft’s side to keep her from rolling over. He slid open the balcony window and closed it behind him before reaching for a cigarette in his pocket.

_He’s probably not coming back today. What should I do? I could live off comfortably with what we have in our joint accounts and Shirley’s got her own trust fund…_

The cigarette lit up the dark balcony in a faint orange glow.

_But my life will never be the same, not without Myc._

Another long drag before he filled the sight before him in a cloud of smoke.

_Will he come home?_

As he took one last drag, he noticed a car coming up the driveway. It stopped downstairs and a familiar figure got out of the car.

Mycroft.

 

Twenty six seconds. It will take him exactly that long to walk through the front door and get into the elevator then walk into their home. He’s coming home.

“I’m home.”

Gregory was already standing by the front door when Mycroft opened it. He took exactly two steps before Gregory pulled him in and slammed the door shut behind them. Holding his husband in an embrace, he felt his cheeks heating up while the teardrops cooled them down simultaneously.

“Welcome home sunshine. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, and I’m sorry. I was… I behaved like an idiot, and I promise I will never leave like that again. I will always come home to you and Shirley. I promise.”

 

**#########**

 

“What is this?”

Gregory was unpacking Mycroft’s bag a week after he came home and found a sealed letter addressed to Gregory and Shirley.

“I wrote that letter while I was away. It’s for you.”

“Don’t need it.” Gregory threw the letter into the fireplace and pulled Mycroft into his arms. “I am sure you remember every word you wrote. Talk to me about it, please?”

“I blamed myself for what happened to Shirley. I couldn’t protect her. Our family. I’ve never felt so incompetent. I’ve let you down. I was beating myself up. But your voicemails, they reminded me why I fell in love with you. Your voice that night when you were drunk, I knew you were serious about doing something if I don’t come home. And last night, you were watching our wedding video. You fell asleep when you let Shirley leave me a voicemail. She left it recording after she was done and I could hear our vows. I vowed to turn to you first in any circumstances, and I failed to do that… I couldn’t bear the thought of living without you, and it was worse knowing you felt the same. I am sorry my love. I promise I’ll neve--”

Gregory couldn’t hold himself back and stopped Mycroft’s words with his own lips. They shared a heated moment before Shirley interrupted them, demanding for a bottle and eggies from Papa.

 

A year later, Mycroft decided to fully retire from his position, knowing that removing himself from power was the best way to protect his family, and there was nothing he would not give up for them.

 

* * *

* * *

 

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

 


	12. Fond of Bond?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by duchesscloverly's "Headcanon #007" on FB Mystrade is our Division : Fanfiction Writers and Readers group.
> 
> For Kindra, Crissy & Jed. Enjoy! xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Tom Fordy for your [James Bond marathon guide](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/men/thinking-man/11931366/James-Bond-marathon-What-its-like-to-watch-every-007-film-back-to-back.html). Your man credentials are certainly intact.

Greg was munching on a large bowl of popcorns while he tried not to cringe every time Bond does something ridiculous. Mycroft’s head was on his lap, his long and lean frame stretched across the well-worn sofa in their living room. Everything in his head screams ‘give up!’, but for Mycroft, he was willing to stay in this weekend and endure every James Bond film ever made.

Mycroft on the other hand, was bored. He had resorted to counting the specks of dust on Gregory’s lap. If it was anyone else, he would have upped and left before they could even finish the ‘B’ in ‘Bond marathon’. Carefully, he glanced up and saw Gregory stuffing another handful of popcorn in his mouth. He seemed to be enjoying the movie, and Mycroft was willing to go through forty-eight hours of intense Bond training for his husband.

If both of them were so miserable, why would they even plan this weekend in the first place?

 

It all started as a bet between John and Sherlock.

One evening when John and Greg went down to the local for a pint after a case, he found out that the DI actually disliked Bond films.

“It’s the way Bond does his missions! I’ve only seen one and decided it was not for me. The Godfather, however…”

“Right. You like your men in dapper suits sitting behind large oak tables and ordering people around. Got it.” John laughed when Greg blushed, realising the doctor was actually describing Mycroft, not Corleone.

As they move on to lighter conversations, the doctor kept wondering if Mycroft and Greg would endure 48 hours of Bond for each other. He had known that Mycroft hated Bond as well, but did not bring it up with Greg, simply because he can! _This could keep Sherlock occupied the next time we’re hitting a dry spell with cases._

 

A few weeks after the drink with Greg, the doctor detective duo’s investigation activities came to a halt. Sherlock was spiralling from shooting the walls to experimenting with his own toenails, which was all _fine and dandy_ , until John caught a foul smell on the third day.

“Sherlock!” John yelled from the open door downstairs. “What is that smell? I caught a whiff of it all the way from the station.” When he opened the door, the smell, _oh fuck_. Immediately John held his breath and found Sherlock with a military-grade gas mask in the kitchen with a smoking device on the table.

“Ah, John. You’re back. I needed your opinion on this. Look, there are some browning…” He paused when he saw John’s face puffed up, obviously not breathing, and his face was blushing. “John?”

John motioned for Sherlock to remove the gas mask. As soon as Sherlock took his first breath, he galloped to the bathroom and threw up all the tea he consumed in the morning.

When Sherlock ran off, John quickly opened all their windows and door, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that Mrs Hudson was out. The next thing he did was dumping the smoker into the sink and covering it with a wet cloth.

“Oh god. The smell! Sherlock, what the fuck was that?”

Sherlock appeared behind John, shocked to find his smoker in the sink. “My experiment… how could you!” He snapped at John and sulked in his chair for the next twenty minute. During that time, John cleared his experiments from the table and pulled out his most expensive air freshener, determined to purge all traces of that foul-smelling experiment from their lives.

And Mrs Hudson was away. Thank god for small mercies!

“Was that the toenail experiment? You know it’ll grow back, yeah? But no more smoking it in the house, please. That smell made you sick!” John rebuked gently, bringing them a cuppa each. “If you’re really that bored, let me give you something to think about.”

“And what would be more interesting than… oh, something you know that I don’t. Do share. Hurry, my brain is rotting.” Sherlock dramatically perched on his chair and received his cup of sugar with a few splashes of tea, then murmured a ‘thank you’ to John along with a sweet smile.

John sat down on his own chair and told Sherlock about his discovery of Greg’s hate for Bond. “I’ll bet they can sit through it all without realising that they both hate it.”

“I doubt it. Lestrade is terrible at hiding his emotions.” The detective stretched out his hand towards John and motioned for a shake, “we have a deal?”

“If I win, I want you to beg Mrs Hudson for the basement, and you can take your more complex experiments downstairs… still no smokers!” He shook Sherlock’s hand and the detective gleamed.

“If I win, I get to use your semen for my next experiment.” Sherlock said without blinking an eye, and started texting furiously.

 

Mycroft was in a meeting with the Korean ambassador when his personal phone buzzed. He ignored it for a minute, and a second message came through.

“Excuse me.” He said in fluent Korean, then checked his phone. Much to his disappointment, it was Sherlock instead of Gregory.

**A little bird told me Lestrade is fond of Bond. -SH**

And the second text,

**The rhyming was purely coincidental. -SH**

_Right. Gregory is fond of Bond..._ That had occupied Mycroft’s mind for the remainder of the meeting. How had he not known that fact after that many years? But to be fair, whenever they had time to be alone, they would rather not spend it in front of the telly. Thus never finding out each other’s likes and dislikes when it came to movies.

James Bond was a character most often associated with his pre-desk career. Many agents loved the movies, because it was what they wish they were. In reality, their lives were at high risk. They could drop dead at any moment because of a glass of water they drank was laced with cyanide, or kicked their toes against the foot of a table with a bomb trigger, or simply shot in the head.

It was not as glorified as the movies portrayed it to be. As he flipped through more paperwork on his desk, his mind wandered into memories of his days undercover in Russia. The clothes he wore was nothing more than the cheapest off-the-shelf. There were no beautiful bartenders or sidekicks, no martinis, and certainly no fancy cars to blow up as and when they wished.

But Gregory is fond of Bond.

“Anthea, am I free this weekend?” He spoke through the intercom.

“Yes sir. I’ve cleared your schedule, and arranged for someone to drop the Bond films at your home.”

“Not a word to anyone, especially Q.”

“Yes sir.”

 

Wednesday came and went. Greg’s team finally caught a good case and decided to call Sherlock in. While the detective bent over the victim and started muttering to himself, Greg moved discreetly next to John.

“John. Just wondering if you know… uhm, does Mycroft like Bond films?” He asked hesitantly.

“No idea. I could ask Sherlock if you’d like but I doubt he retained that much detail about Mycroft. Why’d you ask?” John knew why he asked, but decided to play along.

“He had someone send all the Bond films to the house last night. I checked the playtime, it’s going to take two and a half days to finish them back to back!” Greg sighed exasperatedly. He was also wondering how many drinks he can have in the span of 23 films.

“Yes he does. He loves Bond.” Sherlock suddenly appeared behind them and answered Greg’s question. “He’s severed relationships with people over their dislike for Bond. If you are one of them, might I suggest you find a way to tolerate it, lest you break my brother’s heart?”

“Just ignore him. He tends to get a little over dramatic when it comes to teasing you and Mycroft.” John said as he shrugged his shoulders, turning around and followed Sherlock out.

That left Greg more than a little worried.

 

Friday evening came. During dinner, Mycroft had told Greg about his plan for them to stay in the weekend and watch all the Bond films. And Greg accepted that plan, believing that Mycroft actually loved the films.

While Greg cleaned up the kitchen and made snacks, Mycroft decided to put on the first Bond film. As Greg settled with his bowl of popcorn and Mycroft leaned against his side, he decided that this may not be such a bad weekend afterall.

Because the both of them disliked the Bond films, there were many but failed attempts at film commentary by Greg.

“That’s a nice tux but those women…” He tried but only received a hum in response from Mycroft.

“Ah, vodka martini. Would you like one?” It was less than an hour into their Bond marathon. _First drink,_ Greg counted to himself.

Two minutes after Mycroft’s first sip, he went back to the corner and made himself a vodka and orange. As he sat down, he grinned at Gregory, “I am seriously questioning my man credentials…”

“Well, you’re gay. You can have rainbows and sprinkles with your vodka and no one would bat an eyelash.” A quick peck on his lover’s cheek and they both turned back to the god awful movie.

Enduring the movies were terribly difficult for Greg, but when they were halfway into Goldfinger, he started to have a little man crush on Sean Connery, and his erection was untimely. Well, it was also because Mycroft had slipped down and laid his head on his lap. His eyes roamed Mycroft’s body from head to toe, and back to his head, then their eyes met.

“Are you turned on by Sean Connery?” Mycroft asked. He was genuinely curious.

“That man oozed more raw brooding sexuality in the last two hours than we both have all year!” Greg just had it as a passing thought, but played it up for Mycroft. After that many hours, he had to at least pretend he was interested.

 

As the night went by, Mycroft started his own series of commentary in his mind.

_He got caught picking the lock and the housekeeper said nothing to no one?_

_It wasn’t like this at all! There were lasers like that, sure… but no one would start from the crotch… it would have cut through the floors too!_

_If I blew up that car, Q would have set off a nuclear on my location and finished me off. I would have sent Bond to Serbia and put him in a dress if he was real and destroyed all those cars._

_Is he drinking on a mission, again?_

It was just slightly after 3am when Thunderball ended. Mycroft had fell asleep midway through. When the credits rolled, he woke up and noticed Greg watching the credits.

“Oh dear. I’m sorry I fell asleep…” He quickly sat up eye to eye with Greg. When the other man sat quietly without moving a muscle, Mycroft started to panic. “Gregory?” He poked the DI’s bicep with his finger and realised his husband had fell asleep with his eyes open.

“Hmm?” Greg blinked and saw Mycroft up, “did I wake you?”

“No. You fell asleep with your eyes open.”

“That one was so bad, my brain just shuts--” Greg caught himself a little too late and tried to rectify it, but Mycroft had caught that comment.

“Bad? Do you not like the Bond films?”

“Well…” _Might as well come clean now,_ Greg thought. “I hate them. My favourite are The Godfathers films. But I know you love Bond. Come on, I can sit through this with you.” He reached out for Mycroft only to find the other curled up at the other end of the sofa with his face in his hands. “Shit. Now I’ve really fucked it up, haven’t I?” He said, thinking that Mycroft would file a divorce and ask him to move out.

Mycroft raised his head and started to chuckle. “No… not at all. We’ve both fucked up. Sherlock told you I liked Bond, didn’t he?” When Greg nodded, Mycroft closed the gap between them and straddled his husband, holding the DI’s confused face in his hands, “he told me you were _fond of Bond_.”

“No way. No fucking way! He played us both!” His arms now wrapped around Mycroft’s waist, pulling the other’s body flush against his own. “Could you reach the remote and switch off the bloody movie before it starts playing again?”

“It’s a tape, love. But yes, the music is driving me up the wall.” Mycroft said as he stretched to his side of the sofa for the remote. “So, did Sean Connery really turn you on?”

“Nope. I was thinking about how classy you would look in that 1964 Aston Martin.”

“If I had cars like that when I was in service, I wouldn’t have left…” _And imagine the amount of cock-sucking jokes we’d have to endure if Q had those cars for us…_

“You would have looked hot either way.” His hands now smoothed the planes of Mycroft’s back, randomly low enough to cup his arse and back up again. “Were there lasers like that back in the sixties?”

Mycroft’s face was flushed as Greg continued to touch him, pulling his hips, grinding their crotches together. When Mycroft made no signs to respond, Greg asked the same question again, except this time, he whispered with a low voice next to Mycroft’s ear.

“Do you expect me to talk?” Mycroft knew damned well he was quoting Sean Connery, but if Greg was going to play dirty, he would too.

“No Mister Holmes, I expect you to kiss me and literally shag me seven ways till Sunday.” They looked each other in the eye and started laughing at the hilarity of paraphrasing Bond films. “Very unromantic. Let’s not do that anymore.”

“I agree. Now shut up and take me to bed.”

 

Late Monday morning, Sherlock received a message from his brother.

**You’ve won the bet. Congratulations, brother mine. -MH**

 

****

**Author's Note:**

> Based on weird headcanons. The individual prompts will be posted at the end of every chapter!


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